


The Naked Elf.

by hennethgalad



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Pie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2019-11-15 01:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18064091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/pseuds/hennethgalad
Summary: Glorfindel tells Bilbo of his adventures...





	1. Chetwood Truffle Pies.

 

                     Chapter One: Chetwood Truffle Pies.

 

The baker smiled at Bilbo, laying down the plate of fresh pies. 'Chetwood Truffle Turnovers,I think. We thought we should give you the first taste, since you are the expert. Glorfindel is coming down to try them, though I am sure he will tell us that we have not captured that local piquancy. He will probably be right... But what do you think, Mr Baggins, are these convincing ?'

Bilbo picked up the small, delicate pie, hoping he would not burn his tongue, and took a cautious bite. The Turnover was delicious; the frugal cooks of the Chetwood, making pies from whatever they foraged beneath the trees, would have wept to taste such light flaking pastry, such rich onion and mushroom filling, and such generous use of smoky truffles and fresh herbs. He finished the small pie swiftly and reached for a second 'They are even better than the real Chetwood pies, you have outdone yourselves again ! Though, perhaps you had better make some more, or I fear my greed will overcome me and I shall leave none for Glorfindel.'

 

The baker laughed and thanked Bilbo, and returned to the noisy heat of the old bakery, next to the big mill, on the bank of the Bruinen. It was Bilbo's favourite place for breakfast (if the weather was fine), for the bakers of Rivendell were the finest in Middle Earth, and Bilbo would hear nothing of the cakes of Lothlorien or the crumbling biscuits of Mithlond. He sighed contentedly and bit into his third pie, and sat back in his favourite chair to watch the river bubbling past. Across the water lay meadows filled with wild flowers, where Asfaloth grazed, surrounded by adoring members of his herd. Bilbo smiled fondly at the lovely white stallion, flicking his tail as he browsed the lush grass.

 

Beside Bilbo, overhanging the water on the near bank, stood a long narrow copse of trees, lining the path down to the bakery and the mill. Here the students, who came to Imladris from far and wide to study with Elrond the Loremaster, had taken to gathering. At first it had been the bakery which drew them, those who had sat late at book or bottle (or both!) had met at the riverbank and waited in the trees, where, being young, and frequently drunk, they had begun to sing. Soon talans had been built, and now it was the unofficial student bar. But the sound of the millwheel churning through the water covered the worst of their lyrics, which were somewhat experimental, leaving only the faintest of melodies blending with the endless rush of falling water that filled the air of Imladris.

 

Bilbo drank some mead and ate his fourth pie, smiling at himself. The students had started to sing about Glorfindel, and Bilbo suddenly realised that that meant that they had seen him. He turned to look up the hill and there was Glorfindel, laughing but shaking his head. Bilbo rose to greet him and froze in the act of calling his name. From the trees that lined the path between them, an elf hung, held by his wrists, kicking, shouting and naked. It was so shocking that for a moment Bilbo thought that they had been invaded. Then Glorfindel moved.

 

   Of course the ring had changed Bilbo, sharpening his senses, and his memory. Yet still he needed to recall what he had just seen several times before he could make sense of the blur of motion that had been the enraged Glorfindel. He had leaped an astonishing distance, caught the wrists of the elves in the tree and jerked them down to the ground. The naked elf had scrambled up the tree and vanished among the branches, but the two students on the ground had scarcely had time to breathe before realising that Glorfindel had stripped them and bound their hands with their own clothes. In furious silence he seized their arms and dragged them away up the hill.

Bilbo looked regretfully at the pies, then scrambled up the steep bank, for he knew every shortcut in Rivendell, exasperated at always having to run to catch up. Glorfindel was marching the students into the Hall, Bilbo hurried across the courtyard and up the steps, in time to see Glorfindel turn into the Hall of Fire. Bilbo gaped after them, then dashed across the hall to hide in the shadows where he could see into the Hall of Fire. Glorfindel bound the students to a pillar in silence, then turned and strode angrily away.

 

But Bilbo had faced a live dragon, and lived to tell (and retell!) the tale. Besides, he was supposed to be meeting Glorfindel for breakfast. It was for him to offer comfort to his friend. He stepped anxiously into the path of Glorfindel, who frowned at him and said 'Not now Bilbo' and stalked away, then stopped, and turned slowly. 'Forgive me, Mr Baggins, of Bag End. I... In my rage I mistook you for... well, for a child, I suppose. I disdained your counsel because you are small. Can you ever forgive my insult ?'

Bilbo smiled up at the tall elf, who was trying to neither stoop, nor to look down on the hobbit. 'Never mind that Glorfindel, come and try the Chetwood truffle pies, and if you like, you can tell me why you are so angry. It sounds like a long story, and I for one would very much like another pie. Or two.'

Glorfindel laughed 'Dear Bilbo, who could ask for a better friend than he who stole the Arkenstone from Smaug for the sake of his friend Thorin Oakenshield.' He looked thoughtfully at Bilbo 'I truly do admire your courage, Mr Baggins, never doubt that. Yes, let us dine by the waters of Bruinen, and I will tell you a tale to break your heart, and mine. But it may be that he should live on in our hearts, he deserves remembrance, and more worthy remembrance than those fools gave him.'

 

To Glorfindel, of course, the pies were delicate morsels, to be eaten whole, and he duly devoured seven before sitting back in his chair with a sigh and picking up his mead. The millwheel rattled and clanked, the miller could be heard faintly, singing of Lúthien, and the bakers had taken spiced cakes out of the great ovens, the sweet fragrance was filling the courtyard air. Glorfindel raised his head and sniffed, Bilbo stood up to ask for a taste, but the baker emerged, smiling broadly through the shine of sweat on his red face. 'Do not eat them yet, you will certainly burn your tongue this time Mr Baggins.' He turned to Glorfindel 'Would you care for a glass of miruvor, my lord ? We always have some in the bakery, in case of accidents.'

Glorfindel sighed 'Thankyou. Yes, yes, I would be most grateful.'

 

When he had drunk the tonic, his whole body seemed to soften, and he smiled up at the baker. 'Your miruvor is good, but your Chetwood truffle pies are, and I am certain that Mr Baggins will concur with me on this, even finer than the originals.' He turned to Bilbo who snorted with laughter. For Glorfindel was imitating the voice and manner of the mayor of Bree judging a baking contest at the annual fair. But the baker smiled politely and returned to his kitchen. Glorfindel suppressed a smile "I shall have to explain to him, or we shall no longer be his favourites. Do you still miss Bree, and the Shire ?'

'Oh, of course I do ! But no, I have said my farewells, it is pleasant to know that everyone is bumbling along just as well without me. I tire so easily, you know...'

Glorfindel pushed the plate of cakes towards the hobbit 'Here, eat some of these, we must keep your strength up !'

Bilbo laughed and picked up a hot cake and blew on it to cool it, then looked sharply at Glorfindel 'But I am not so tired that I do not have time for the troubles of a friend. Come, tell me all, and I shall bite the ankles of your tormentors !'

'You would too, you old fool. Very well, I shall tell his tale.' He looked sidelong at Bilbo, his blithe smile turned to something subtle and shadowed for a moment. Bilbo thought of the rage he had seen on the fair face of the elf, and remembered with a kind of shock that elves had been to war against other elves, long long ago, and that Glorfindel himself had been there, and seen it. 'But I think it will shock you, more than it would shock an elf. Even Aragorn does not know this tale. Those wretched students, ferreting out old stories and misunderstanding everything...' he sat back, visibly calming his own rage, and presently spoke in a more nomal tone.

 

'It happened long long ago' he began. Bilbo laughed and in a singsong voice said

'Before the sun and the moon...'

'Yes, it was before the sun and the moon, in the time of the Trees....'

 

 

 


	2. Mighty Warrior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel remembers an early romantic conquest.

It was a hot, still day, the drowsy bees flew slowly, and the birds sought shelter in the shade. The elves of Tirion were gathered to hear a concert in praise of Irmo, and to eat picnics in the warm Light. Glorfindel, full beyond even nibbling at treats, was idly looking around at the audience when his eyes were held by what seemed to him a flash as bright as lightning. But his eyes disputed with his spirit, and he could not tell if he had seen a vision of the future, or a phantasm of a dream, conjured by the music and the rich food and the heat.

He blinked, he could not tell. The elf had tilted his head back, closed his eyes and was smiling faintly with satisfaction. Something in his attitude struck Glorfindel like a charging bull, he felt as though he had forgotten how to breathe, and he knew that all too soon the elf would move, and turn his head, and the vision be lost forever. But the elf was still, basking in the Light, his eyes closed, his smile broadening into one of contentment, almost of bliss. Glorfindel had a vision, or merely wished it so, of the elf naked, with that same expression, and of his hands, waiting to touch the warm flesh. The moment seemed endless, until at last the spell was broken and another elf spoke to the vision, and he turned his beautiful head and smiled at his companions.

 

Glorfindel tugged urgently on the sleeve of Erestor, who was debating arcane minutiae with some friends. ‘Erestor ! Who is that, it looks like his family he is with, they are wearing mostly brown, with garlands of pale roses.'

'What, who ? Oh, oh yes, that will be Aistalar, the son of Brethil. Brethil is a secretary of Finwë, and his wife toils in the depths of the archives. Ha ! You think that my work is obscure... The son, well, there are two, that will be the older brother over there, with his wife and children. Aistalar is nice enough, I suppose, but, well, a bit... well... dull. They are all a bit dull, in truth. Duller than me, even.'

'That is not what you mean by dull, you mean that he is not brilliant like you. He is dull, like me.'

'You are not dull ! Nor stupid. You have not tried to be a scholar at all ! But you know very well that you could, and I am sure that you will, eventually, and you will take your place among the wise, where you belong. But we need all kinds of elves doing all kinds of things, and you are such a mighty warrior that nobody minds if you never open another scroll in all your life.'

'But what of Aistalar ? What can you tell... Oh no !'

   Glorfindel rose from his cushion; the family of Brethil was leaving, he turned to Erestor with alarm in his eyes "Where does he live Erestor ? Tell me swiftly !'

 

 

 

The house was unremarkable, dull, perhaps... Glorfindel, having rushed home to find a suitable gift, was astonished at himself, but he could think of no other way than a direct approach. He looked down at the hamper in his arms; his parents had sent it from the family farm, it was filled with his favourites. He hoped that Brethil and his family shared a few of his tastes. He swallowed, and wiped his hands one palm at a time, then straightened his back and walked purposefully up the path to the doors.

He was shown into a long shaded room where Brethil, his wife and Aistalar were resting on couches. They rose to greet him in surprise as great as his own. For a moment he could not speak, but his eyes met those of Aistalar, which were pale grey, ringed with dark smoke. His eyes seemed to flash at Glorfindel, who felt the same shock as he had at the concert earlier. His fear fell from his shoulders, he smiled at Aistalar, with all the warmth and charm he could muster, and was pleased to see the flush of colour in the pale cheeks. His purpose became certainty, he knew he could win the fair Aistalar, and that winning him had become an urgent necessity.

 

   He turned to Brethil. 'Forgive the intrusion sir, but I have come to present this hamper to you, with my compliments. It comes from my family farm.'

But Brethil interrupted him breathlessly 'A hamper from Little Gold Tree ? For us ? May I ask why this sudden generosity to strangers ?' But his wife, who had watched more closely the exchange of smiles, laid a gentle hand on her husband's arm.

'My dear, this is not the behaviour of a gracious host. Glorfindel, you must be thirsty, perhaps a little grape juice ? Or mead ? Will you sit with us awhile, for after all, we are born strangers to our own parents.'

Glorfindel could see that Brethil had grasped that something was afoot, but was clearly waiting for his wife to explain. Glorfindel smiled, this was not what he had come to expect from the courtiers of Finwë, but then there were many skills needed to administer the city, and Brethil might be one of those to whom numbers were toys.

 

They sat, and Glorfindel sipped some grape juice and they spoke briefly of the concert, but he could feel their impatient curiosity, and see the blush deepening on the cheeks of Aistalar, who could not yet quite believe that the visit concerned him. His mother was opening the hamper and exclaiming over the contents, and turned to Brethil with a happy smile 'Let us picnic again my dear ! Let us invite Glorfindel to share this marvellous hamper with us, and he may tell us the secrets of the kitchen of Little Gold Tree.'

Brethil looked at Glorfindel 'Would you like that ? You are very welcome, I am sure, but...'

Glorfindel drew in his breath, looked quickly at Aistalar, and finally spoke, as clearly and firmly as he could. 'I have come to court Aistalar. I hope I may count on your blessing ?'

All three of them gasped softly. Aistalar rose to his feet for a moment, then sat quickly down. His mother was beaming, pleased with her guess, and delighted for her son. She turned to Brethil, who gaped for a moment, then drew himself up proudly 'Of course, he is a handsome boy, though I say so myself. Why, you are welcome here, Glorfindel, and you must take your chance with my boy. He is a quiet one, a bit shy, you know, so do not be discouraged if he doesn’t say much.'

'Father ! Please. I can speak for myself.' It was the first time that Glorfindel had heard Aistalar speak, his voice was clear and pleasant, as perfect as his features. 'Perhaps Glorfindel would like me to show him the gardens before we eat, while you rest.'

'Splendid !' said his mother, 'We shall have these delicacies set up by the time you return.'

 

The gardens were large and filled with trees, hedges, statues and small ornamental summer houses. When they were out of sight of the house Glorfindel stopped and smiled at Aistalar 'Do not be afraid, I would do nothing to hurt you.'

Aistalar frowned 'I am not afraid' he began, then yelped as the breath was thrown from his lungs. Glorfindel had hauled him down onto the grass and held him immobile. Aistalar struggled for a little, but there was no shifting the mighty warrior Glorfindel. He swallowed, then said as coolly as he could manage 'What do you think you are doing, Glorfindel ?'

But Glorfindel, in the grip of his fey vision, or his fey mood, had formed a desperate scheme, and he meant to succeed, risking all if need be, for the prize that he knew was within his grasp. 'I want you to submit' he said. 'I want you to submit, not as a soldier submits to the captain, but as the horse to the master. I will reach past your will, and tame your body. And you will be mine, naked under my eye and my hand, open to my whim and my pleasure.' He smiled into the stunned eyes 'And I will make this life, this world, true for you, unmarred, I will shield you and comfort you and devote my whole spirit to bringing you to bliss, and holding you there until the world ends. You alone shall return to Cuiviénen ! You shall live the true Music.'

 

And with remorseless care he stripped the clothes from the struggling Aistalar, and took his wrists in one hand, and gripped his legs together with his knees, and looked into the frightened, angry eyes of his captive.

'Have no fear, son of Brethil, I will allow no harm to come to you. I will turn aside from the ways of the warrior, and watch over you.'

Aistalar frowned 'A mighty warrior might do a better job of protecting me. For instance, he might defend me from being attacked in my garden and held down and humiliated like this. Tamed ! Do you think me a beast on your farm ?'

'Nay, Aistalar, I do not humiliate you, I venerate you. I will do nothing without your permission, I shall not even kiss you. But soon, when your heart slows and your breathing is steadier, I shall stroke your flesh, to soothe your body. For we are both animals, it is what distinguishes us from the Maiar. We cannot escape the flesh, as you cannot escape me.'

'Of course I can, I need only call out !'

But Glorfindel shook his head 'You would already have called. You will not now. No, you are mine, and you will find this soothing.'

   His strong hand moved gently over the hot flesh. Aistalar struggled for a moment, then lay still. His breathing, which had begun to slow, came hoarsely in the silent garden.

 

Glorfindel was in torment, the flesh was beneath his hand, he could feel, and see, the arousal of Aistalar, the heart pounding beneath the surprisingly broad chest. Aistalar had the build of a warrior, but Glorfindel had no intention of letting him near a battlefield. He stroked the smooth stomach, fighting his own arm which struggled towards the pale thighs pressed close between his own. The heat made him dizzy, he looked down into the angry grey eyes and watched the black pools deepen as his hand moved over the bared buttocks. He let his finger rest for a moment in the warm crack, and heard the faintest gasp from Aistalar. He smiled to himself, but forced his hand to keep moving. The body must feel safe, to give the trust of submission; he knew he could not move towards the bliss he sought until Aistalar was easy in his hand.

 

Aistalar spoke tersely 'Is this how you court them all ?'

Glorfindel smiled 'I do not know what you have heard, but there have been only two, and I did not court either, both came to me. But you... I knew at once, I think perhaps it was a vision, it pierced my heart. But do not think that I make excuses for my actions. I know they are wrong, and that you are insulted. But still... Soon, very soon, you will long for me to take you, and you will forgive me for my rudeness.'

'Rudeness ! You... You... You should not act in this way even if we had been courting for a year. I am outraged !'

'I am only caressing you, I have given you my word that I shall do no more until you wish it.'

'You take my consent as given ! What if I never wish for you ?' He spoke indignantly, but his voice had become hoarse, and his face was flushed. Glorfindel almost trembled with desire, he knew that Aistalar could feel the hardness pressing against him; their breathing mingled, they were vividly aware, each of the other, and intoxicated with desire. But the hand of Glorfindel moved steadily over the naked skin of Aistalar, and his voice spoke softly, in the soothing tones of an animal healer 'Be still, my beauty, lie at peace. All is well. I am here, I have you, nothing can harm you now.' And he murmured soft words into the heart of Aistalar, and the helpless son of Bethil felt his flesh answer the voice and hand of the mighty Glorfindel. And the body of Aistalar loosened under the hand of Glorfindel, and Glorfindel smiled, for he knew that victory was certain, though much patience would yet be needed.

 

   At length, when they had lain long in silence, Glorfindel all the while running his hand over the warm flesh, they heard the voice of Brethil, summoning them to dine. Glorfindel sighed, but did not pause in his caress. Aistalar lifted his head and looked at Glorfindel in astonishment, and called 'We will come, father !'

Glorfindel clenched his fingers into a fist 'I cannot bear it. I cannot bear to take my hand from your skin. I cannot endure to see you covered again. And then I shall have to bid you farewell, and leave !' He loosened his fingers and stroked the smooth flesh. Aistalar looked at him, an almost kindly expression on his fair face 'But you only met me today. It has been less than an hour.'

Glorfindel smiled wistfully 'No, it was less than an instant. But come, I shall dress you. For soon you shall be uncovered for the last time, and remain so, in the perfection that Eru envisioned, unmarred, not hidden behind dead leaves like a corpse.'

He helped Aistalar to his feet, and gently but firmly dressed him, and brushed the leaves and grass from his long dark hair. Aistalar looked at him as at a stranger, but Glorfindel smiled, and drew the son of Bethil into a comforting embrace, and felt the sinews of his beloved loosen with a sigh.

'Trust me' said Glorfindel, but Aistalar turned away and walked quickly back to the house of his father.

 

 

At the darkest hour, when all of Tirion kept the peace of Estë, Glorfindel, his blood in fever, stood beneath the window of Aistalar. He had found it out by asking to be shown the house. Aistalar, who had picked at his dinner in flushed silence, followed them in more silence. His mother had been enthusiastic and confidential until she had asked Glorfindel when and where they had met. When he had calmly replied 'Here, today' she had hurried him down the stairs. But Glorfindel knew that she had missed her prey. Aistalar would be his, it was merely a question of patience.

 

He climbed the carved corner of the house, and swung out onto the balcony, then slid silently over the railing and in through the open door of the room of Aistalar. He lay asleep, on his back, his head turned away, one arm abandoned on his stomach. Glorfindel resisted the urge to rub his hands together, and slowly, gently, he lifted the arm of his beloved and began to ease the tunic over his head. Aistalar murmured a sleepy protest, but Glorfindel hushed him, and he did not resist as Glorfindel finally removed the last of his garments, and threw them into the corner. Then he sat on the rail at the foot of the bed and gloated over the body of Aistalar.

 

Glorfindel watched over his love for hours, as Telperion brightened, filling the quiet room with soft silvery Light. Glorfindel felt too exalted to admit that he was behaving atrociously. He knew that he should have waited, should have taken Aistalar on long walks, and had long meals in rooms with long curtains... but he had known in an instant that it would take an age, that despite the perfection of his beauty, which Glorfindel felt that he alone had seen, Aistalar could never have been brought to understand why one so sought-after as Glorfindel should care for someone as ordinary as him.

Glorfindel had seen in that moment of clarity all the rows and tears, all the uncertainty and distraction that he could not bear to endure. Erestor had been a model of thoughtful restraint, but Aistalar was a different kind of elf altogether. Erestor, looking only for brilliance of mind, had not seen the profound sensuality of the smile that Glorfindel had seen. Erestor would never think to interpret the expressions playing across those curling lips, as purple as though he had eaten blackberries and neglected to wipe his mouth. Glorfindel longed for the time when those lips would be his, longed to slide his finger between them, feel them part to take him into the warm darkness...

 

Aistalar awoke murmering 'What is it...' then shrank together like a nervous crab, pulling his arms around his ankles. 'You !' he exclaimed in a soft hiss 'What are you doing here ?'

'You have nothing to fear, I merely watch over you.'

   'I do not need watching over ! I am in the house of my family.'

Glorfindel smiled meaningfully.

'Well, but Glorfindel you know that you should not be here ! And why have you taken my clothes off again ?'

Glorfindel laughed softly 'I told you, I cannot bear to see your beauty marred by clothing. It.. it offends me.'

'You are offended ? Not I, who have been attacked twice today ?'

'I am not attacking you, I am... I am befriending you.'

This time Aistalar laughed, dryly. 'This is not the behaviour of a friend.'

 

But Glorfindel was watching his prey, aware that Aistalar had not left the room, aware that he had not even moved to find clothes. Glorfindel felt a wave of desire sweep through him and carefully measured his breath; it would not do to startle the naked elf, he must feel both overpowered and safe. Glorfindel did not even know if it could be done to an elf, though he had once seen a wild young colt talked into accepting a rider.

It was far beyond the hunt, the taming of the prey.

 

   Aistalar looked up at him as though for guidance, and Glorfindel took pity on him; he was far outside his experience, confronting a wild-eyed stranger who had sprung from nowhere, babbling about animals.

'Dear Aistalar, will you accept the comfort of my arms ? I shall not kiss you, nor do aught that you do not wish. I swear this.'

Aistalar shrank back for a moment, then his head sagged, and he looked up at Glorfindel from under his long dark eyelashes 'Very well. I must have caught your fey mood, for I do trust you. You have done nothing but... well...' he looked down, leaning his chin on his knees. Glorfindel felt a tender warmth, and slid down onto the bedand wrapped his arms around his beloved.

 

Gradually he laid him down, and raised his arms above his head and held him by the wrists; gripping his legs between his knees, he used his free hand to stroke the bare skin that lay helpless before him. The strength of his own desire threatened to twist his sinews into knots. He knew that he could not speak, but Aistalar lay in silence, breathing audibly, his body hot, and beginning to tremble. Finally, after a long silence, in which the motion of his hand over the smooth flesh seemed the only sound apart from their breathing, Glorfindel spoke hoarsely 'Go to sleep. You must trust me. You must sleep.'

Aistalar turned his head and looked at Glorfindel in astonishment 'Sleep ? By the stars ! Are you witless ? How can I sleep like this ?'

Glorfindel spoke thickly. 'You must. Forget me, I will not harm you. Sleep, Aistalar, close your eyes and sleep.'

Shock, perhaps, had tired Aistalar beyond the point of caring. After a moment or two his eyes stayed closed, and he softened into the arms of Glorfindel, who felt tears start in his eyes, and clenched his teeth angrily. This was the time for celebration, not weeping. The beloved lay naked in his arms, sleeping peacefully. He was filled with pride, greater than anything he had accomplished in all his life. His eyes burned but he stared out into the silvery night, and realised the truth of what he had done, and within him, bubbling forth like a new spring, a score of plans for their future sprang into his thought, keeping him staring out at the shimmering sky, even as his hands ran lightly over the smooth skin beneath him.

But time was passing, it had brightened considerably, and he must leave or the scandal would ruin his careful planning. He sighed regretfully and stroked Aistalar again, who slid closer, and murmured contentedly. Glorfindel found that he himself had made a soft mewling croak, the animal sounds of lovers in the night. He gritted his teeth and tore himself away, knowing that all morning he would feel himself to be still there, in bed with his beloved, at peace.

The streets were quiet. Glorfindel stretched, scratching his head, feeling his hair shaken loose, and cracked the strain from his joints. He considered running the rest of the way, but he knew that he needed to think, and to compose his mind, and to prepare for the lunch he had arranged with Aistalar and his parents.

There was a gardener weeding the flowers beside the road. It was the first time he had seen one at work, after two years in Tirion. He realised that, like Erestor, he had kept very sensible hours, and done nothing wild at all. With a start he realised that it was this very quietness which had earned him such a welcome in the house of Brethil. He noticed that the gardener was staring at him, and that he was staring at her.

'Forgive me !' he exclaimed, 'But I have never seen a gardener here, in the two years I have lived here. I am called Glorfindel, if it please you.'

'I know who you are, Glorfindel, for I saw you beat Roka at the races. Indeed, I won a wager on you ! But tell me, Glorfindel, if it please you, what has brought about this change in your sober habits. For you do not seem drunk to me. Is it love that has you sleepless ?'

Glorfindel gaped at her 'Do you read my thought ?'

She laughed 'Alas, no, though by your colour those thoughts would be very interesting to read ! The beloved is keen, yes ?'

Glorfindel felt his cheeks burn 'I think... I think he will be mine soon. Very soon.'

She paused and straightened her back, looking down for a moment at the trowel in her hand 'I meet many of the lovesick, on these nights, and often they talk to me, for a stranger is a friend in the desolate night. You seem... You seem like one who will be wed the next day, with determination and ardour eating your heart. Go home, Glorfindel, go home to your bed and dream of him, and the day of bliss will find you rested and ready !'

Glorfindel smiled at her, a smile which warmed her heart all day, and suddenly darted away. She laughed and returned to her weeding, certain that whatever he did next, talk of it would be all over the city by nightfall.

 

 

They had lunch at The Fountain, the finest in the city. Glorfindel sought to be as charming as he could, and was pleased to find that Brethil worked with some of Erestor's friends, and was easily nudged into talking of them. Glorfindel prompted him with questions, but only half listened to his replies, keeping always his eye on Aistalar. The son of Brethil was pale, his cheeks burning, his eyes lowered, picking at his food again. Glorfindel smiled warmly at the lowered eyes, then leaned across the table and said softly 'Eat.'

Aistalar started, then his eyes focused on Glorfindel, who smiled at him and said 'Eat' and nodded at the plate. Mechanically, still staring at nothing, Aistalar ate blindly. His mother smiled at Glorfindel 'He's always been shy. I hope you can bring him out of his shell a little.'

And Glorfindel had choked back a shout of laughter and nodded his agreement. As they ate he felt the tide moving with him, and a moment for decisive action was buzzing around him like a swarm of angry bees. But he breathed calmly, drank a little wine and then said to Brethil 'I think we shall take a house in the hills, a little out of town. There is one I have in mind, called Beech Ridge, do you know it ?'

 

Brethil looked at his son in surprise, they had heard nothing from him, the whole courtship seemed over before it had begun, and Aistalar truly had the appearance of one about to wed. Brethil sighed briefly, but there, his older boy had given him twins already. And there was no denying it, the boy was as pretty as a painting, and had been bound to catch someone's eye sooner or later. And he was of age and more, it was time the boy lived a little, and left him alone with his lovely wife, who had been putting him a long way behind the children for far too long.

 

   Aistalar looked up, their words drifting through the fog of his dream. For he could not convince himself that he was awake. The beautiful Glorfindel was hunting him like an animal, and he found himself longing to be caught again. His anger had turned into a raging desire that seemed to numb him to all else, even to the finest food in Tirion. His body tingled from the memory of Glorfindel's hands, the long brown fingers toying with a peach, stroking the skin as though absently, talking all the while to Brethil, but looking at Aistalar from the corners of his eyes, stroking the skin of the peach and making Aistalar want to scream, and throw over the table and seize Glorfindel and...

Glorfindel was rising, talking and laughing to Brethil. Aistalar rose in a daze, and Glorfindel held out a hand to him 'Come' he said, and Aistalar, not having the least notion where they were going, followed Glorfindel, forgetting to bid farewell to his own parents. Brethil turned to his wife and smiled 'They are so in love ! It seems to have flourished overnight, like a vigorous flower.'

'Yes' she said slowly 'There is love there, but there is something else, something strange in how they are together. They scarcely looked at each other, yet it seemed as though they were the only people here, somehow. But perhaps it is strange to us because our baby may be flying the nest.'

'And leaving us all alone. You will have no more excuses now my love.'

'They were not... I truly have been anxious for my children, for our children, every day of their lives. But with Glorfindel himself to look after our baby, I think I can finally rest.'

'Yes. I am sure you are right. All will be well.'

 

 

 

They walked in silence through the West Gate, along the sparkling road and then up a path into the thick woods that covered the slopes of the hill. Glorfindel found a clearing filled with jewelled birds and brighter flowers, and stopped, standing before Aistalar, who said quietly 'You are going to undress me at once aren’t you ? Is that all you care about ? My skin ?'

Glorfindel pulled him closer by his belt and unfastened it. 'No, but your skin is... well, it is all over you. It is an important part of who you are. It is a way of communicating with you that cannot be misunderstood.'

'But what is it that you are saying ?'

'Pay attention.' said Glorfindel, and lifted his tunic over his head. When Aistalar was naked, and blushing hotly, Glorfindel took his hands behind his back and stood in front of him, stroking his side, feeling the tremor, and the heat of his flesh. 'Things are moving faster than I had foreseen, my love. I am trembling at the touch of you, as you tremble under my hand. Would you have me kiss you ?'

 

Aistalar gave a strangled whine, and leaned his head back, gasping in frustration 'I do not know ! You have taken my will from me ! I crave only the touch of your hand. I would... I had hoped for love, but if all we are is animals then let us be animals and... and do this thing. I cannot endure the torment of your burning hands on my flesh, I am... I am made of fire, you have set me aflame.'

   Glorfindel lowered him to the ground and ran his hand slowly over the hot flesh. Aistalar half snarled. Glorfindel pursed his lips, his eyes gleaming, and slid his hand between Aistalar's buttocks, resting his finger on the tightly closed hole. Aistalar moaned softly, and Glorfindel looked into the grey eyes, wide with helpless desire.

He had done too much too swiftly, Aistalar was opening like a flower in his hands, but he could not take him yet, he had planned... But no, it was impossible to move any faster, it could not be done. He steeled himself, and raised his hand to Aistalar's cheek. 'Listen.' he said carefully. Aistalar blinked, his eyes grew paler as they focused, and there was a flicker of light, and suddenly Glorfindel knew that what he had seen had not been a vision or a dream, but the Light itself, shining back at him from the eyes of his beloved.

What clearer sign could he wish for ?

 

Aistalar was gazing at him, lips slightly parted. Glorfindel smiled and traced the curved outlines of those dark lips, then slid his finger gently between them, feeling the tongue of Aistalar tentatively lick his finger. 'We must take you home. You must go home tonight. Otherwise it will be too soon, and they, your parents, will be frightened. But I will come for you again tonight, you know that I will. And we shall go together to Ezellohar, and I shall lay you down beneath the branches of Laurelin and there I shall make you mine.'

'Beneath Laurelin ?' Aistalar asked softly, and Glorfindel was surprised at himself. It was such an emphatic declaration of love, he could think of nothing comparable. Very few had done it, and they were the sort who are passionate to excess, the sort who draw eyes. It was not how he had seen himself, yet there was nothing else to be done with this fey passion, that had turned them both aside from all their thoughts and habits, and brought them out into the woods to cling breathlessly together and dream of escape.

'You have not asked me where I am taking you.'

'Beech Ridge. You told father, Beech Ridge.'

'I did not think you were listening.'

'I wasn’t, not really. But I remembered the sounds, and so I know. But I do not know what it is, or where.'

Glorfindel sighed happily and stroked the hair back from Aistalar's face 'It belonged to a Vanyar family, who moved to Valmar. People stay there sometimes, I was there with Erestor and a whole gaggle of chattering scholars. But they liked to meet in the cool indoors, and I liked to sit in the hot spring in the garden and watch the birds hurry about.' He smiled at Aistalar 'You will love it there. I promise you, I promise you not just happiness, but bliss. I must see that light in your eyes, I shall devote myself to finding it again, and I shall lick every part of your skin every day until I do.'

Aistalar sagged in his arms, his breathing troubled. Glorfindel held him close, then looked into the anxious eyes 'Trust me. If I take you now, your parents will know. We must go back there, one more time. Let them get used to the idea. All will be well.'

'I do trust you. I just... I cannot think, I... the desire is filling my mind, you must... You must do what you...'

'Hush...' said Glorfindel softly, stroking the long dark hair of the helpless, naked elf in his arms 'All will be well.'

 

 

That night, as he paused at the edge of the bed where Aistalar lay sleeping, Glorfindel realised that his love was already naked, with no blanket, lying waiting for him. Love choked him for a moment, and wrung his heart. But he knew that this was the moment , and he did not wish to spoil a single detail. He put his hand out and stroked the smooth skin, and his love turned into his hand and sighed awake with a smile.

Glorfindel sat down and gathered the warm bundle of flesh into his arms, and stroked his hair for a moment, then took him by the shoulders. 'First, you must write a note for your parents, saying, "gone to Beech Ridge, will write soon." '

'Yes. And second ?'

'You must come with me to Ezellohar, just as you are.'

   Aistalar paused for the least amount of time, then said 'Yes.'

    The hesitation shook Glorfindel to the core. He cursed his own impatience, and the desire that had filled the air between them like burning sparks and blinding smoke. His plans were thwarted. His efforts to bring the bliss of Cuiviénen to at least one elf seemed already to have failed. There was no time, for events and their own bodies were forcing his hand.

He gritted his teeth. Aistalar was submissive, docile even. He had been tamed, Glorfindel was certain, yet he had hesitated, as though considering refusing an instruction. Glorfindel could not see how he could ensure bliss without full control of all the things involved. Especially his love.

But it had all happened so swiftly... Perhaps he should wait, hold Aistalar in his arms once more, watching as he slept... But no. They were both crazed with desire. To wait would be intolerable.

 

The air was cool and silvery as Telperion waxed. They walked together down the tree-lined streets, Aistalar trying desperately not to feel self conscious, walking naked through Tirion. But Glorfindel had his hand on Aistalar's buttock, one finger burning the hole in his behind. Aistalar could not care what anyone thought, he could think of nothing but the hand, the finger, and the sheer stunning presence of the mighty warrior, Glorfindel. He paused, and looked into the deep blue eyes 'Why me ?' he croaked, in almost a whisper.

   Glorfindel smiled 'I could do no other. It came upon me in an instant. I felt that it must be the same for you, that it would be if I could just get you to... to see me, as I saw you.'

'You spoke of a flash of light... I have seen no such thing. But I find that I am beseiged by you, closely beseiged. And I look inside myself for the will to resist, and you are there, on your pedestal, shining in the Light. And my will does not say 'resist'. My will says 'Glorfindel.'

'Pedestal ?' said Glorfindel. Aistalar laughed 'You really have been buried with Erestor. You are the talk of the town. That heroic race you won, all those heroic races that you have won, and your affair with that actor, and then Erestor... Why, I was so self-conscious in that restaurant because I could see, and hear, all those people saying "There’s that marvellous Glorfindel, but what is that scruffy scarecrow he's with ?" '

Glorfindel blushed and looked away, and saw the gardener, further down the road, plugging away at the endless task of weeding. He called a greeting, and she rose to her feet, looking at them in bemusement.

'I take it that this is the beloved ?' she said, by way of greeting. Aistalar smiled, struggling in vain not to blush. To his horror, Glorfindel chose that moment, for the first time, to press his finger inside Aistalar, who squirmed slightly, and breathed in sharply. They both looked at him, Glorfindel moving his finger in and out as though nothing else were happening. But Aistalar stood, somehow, while Glorfindel told the gardener that they were on their way to Ezellohar, to become one beneath Laurelin.

   'I wish that I had done that. But no, my wife is a Teleri, she would never have consented to that. May the Valar bless you both.'

 

As they approached the central squares, there were people about, but they were troubled by nothing worse than long looks. Indeed they were scarcely troubled even by those, as they drew closer to the great moment. Glorfindel lifted Aistalar onto the back of Asfaloth, leapt up behind him and urged the horse on. They seemed to fly through Valinor in a dream, as the Light brightened around them; Laurelin waxed.

 

 

 


	3. Golden Hair.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel is surprised on the way to Ezellohar.

 

   The wind which raised the branches of the Trees blew his hair around his face, he shook his head to free himself and felt his heart halt and the breath choke in his throat. The brightness of Ezellohar was marred by a cloud of bats, snarling and hissing, flying close to his face and screaming with bared fangs. He screamed, and the vision cleared, the world shrank down to two small figures on a horse, by a hill. But the bats were all around him, he shrank from them, and saw the figure on the horse shrink, and clutch at its brow. And he understood that there were no bats, that these were his thoughts, his darkest thoughts, thwarting his path to Ezellohar.

Asfaloth had halted, stamping once with concern. Aistalar was speaking to him but Glorfindel could not answer. He did not dare to move; his own thoughts were riddled with darkness, he was unworthy. He could not take such a spirit, such a heart, to Laurelin. They must go back, he would apologize...

 

He breathed carefully and thought of his mother, but it was another face, another voice that calmed his spirit. In Meditation, their instructor had been a Vanyar of great dignity, with a voice of such sweetness that it was joked that she could say the same word forever and still enchant you with it. She had told them of the many forms of fear the chameleon, the tireless soldier whose armies spread silently and without end, requiring ceaseless vigilance to keep at bay. But there was also anger, and Glorfindel knew those fangs and their needle bite. And their wings were his restless soaring ambition, and their warm bodies were his voracious needs, and their snarling faces were the ruthlessness within him that would not count the cost.

And her voice had reached him, as the Meditation found him sweating, sick with horror at what he himself was capable of, at the monster he could become. "Turn away your eyes or they will take your face."

And her voice had reached him through the venomous snarling, and his eyes had refocused, and he was sitting on the mat at Meditation, and people were looking anxiously at him, but she had smiled, and he had breathed calmly again, and the class had continued. But afterwards he had thanked her, and she had smiled "Welcome to the battle, young Glorfindel. Never forget how vast the army is, and all of us fighting together."

"Will it never end ?"

"Alas, the Valar tell us that Arda is marred. It may be that we can repair a little of the damage. It is certain that we must not make it worse !"

"What does it mean, 'Turn away your eyes or they will take your face.' ?"

"Turn from the monsters inside you, or they will become you. You are seeing the thing in yourself that you fear, the thing that could overpower your will. But if you did not find them in Meditation, we would be very concerned. Very concerned indeed. Have no fear, my young friend, for your will is strong, and your spirit is kindly. You will prevail."

 

But the screaming, snarling bats were thick about him. He closed his eyes and covered his face but their screeching turned to mockery and he thought of Aistalar and some of the thoughts he had had while stroking the warm, helpless flesh, and was frozen with terror that he might become a monster like the Enemy, and be cruel to Aistalar. He slid to the ground, and to his knees, and looked up at Aistalar, who slid down to kneel anxiously before him, clutching his hands.

'You should leave me. You should go home, while you still can. My thoughts are... my thoughts are abominations, I cannot bring them, I cannot stand before Laurelin and Telperion, as marred as I am.'

Aistalar was very still for a time. Glorfindel blinked at him, he hardly knew him, he could not read him at all, he could scarcely see past the frenzy of his own desire, and when he did, there was the face of an idealised Ainu, and his thought shattered against it like glass on rock. What would he do ? Idly, Glorfindel found himself wondering if he would take Asfaloth, and how long the road was back to... But his mind was exhausted. He had been watching over Aistalar for days, he needed rest, he needed to close his eyes...

'Oh Glorfindel, my dearest love, you are worn out ! Look ! Here I am, you have captured your prey, mighty hunter, victory is yours !' Aistalar had smiled his sparkling smile, and Glorfindel had grinned with half his face.

'I thought you were leaving. I was wondering how to get home, then wondering where home was any more...'

'Your home is with me. Leaving ! Why in the void would I be leaving ? I'm getting married to my true love, I did not know such happiness could be.' He froze, then looked at Glorfindel in horror 'But do you doubt... Do you regret your hasty words ? Do you wish me to leave ?'

 

They gazed at each other, strangers kneeling on the road to the Trees, clutching each other’s hands for comfort in the vastness of Ea. But Glorfindel had turned from his demons, Laurelin waxed and the golden Light glowed in the fine dark hair of Aistalar.

'My beautiful love, my Aistalar, I know that I am unworthy of your truth and your honesty. There are many thoughts that I have concealed from you, thoughts so dark that you would turn from me in disgust and horror should I reveal them. But I fight them back, and strive to keep their... their talons from my judgement. If you can know this about me, yet love me still, then I would wed you, beautiful Aistalar, here, and now.'

'Oh Glorfindel, is that all ? Of course you have dark thoughts, everyone has dark thoughts. What matters is what you do, or say. Dark thoughts... You would not be an elf if you did not. I have them all the time !

Indeed, talking of dark thoughts, are those two guards still behind us ? I'm sure they are simply going the same way as us, but I couldn’t help noticing them, one of them is so handsome.'

Glorfindel turned, there was Taeril, the garlanded spear-caster, and another face he knew from the exercise fields. But these were guards of Ingwë, bearing his colours. Before he spoke, Aistalar had flushed like an apple.

'Oh Glorfindel, it is Taeril, I cannot let him see me like this !'

'Oh ? You cared nothing for the thoughts of the people of Tirion.'

'You do not understand, when I was young, while only a student, I had a great... admiration for Taeril and I... I stood cheering him, many times, enough that he would nod at me, from time to time. He will know my face, and I will be...'

Glorfindel laughed 'Do you think he will notice your face, while you are like this ?' he gestured to Aistalar, and perceived his arousal 'My poor darling, he will ride past, averting his gaze, he is a courtly Vanyar, high in the favour of Ingwë, he will not mock you !' He took Aistalar in his arms and faced the guards of Ingwë.

 

But Taeril and his companion did not ride past, they halted, and leaped lightly to the ground, and Taeril bowed to Glorfindel with hand on heart.

'Stars shine upon you, Glorfindel the fleet ! Will you stand aside with me awhile, for I must speak with you.'

'Walk in the Light, Taeril the strong, is aught amiss ?' He tightened his grip on Aistalar, then walked a little distance away with Taeril, still watching the blushing Aistalar greeting the other athlete, Erenas, who could run further than any elf alive. Glorfindel turned to Taeril 'What brings two such exalted athletes to Ezellohar ?'

But Taeril smiled mysteriously and gestured to the narrowest path, scarcely seen beneath the busy green fingers of Yavanna. Glorfindel hestiated, expecting Taeril to lead the way, but Taeril merely nodded with his eyes. Glorfindel sighed and parted the thick growth of ivy and honeysuckle, and sharper things, and struggled through to a clearing in the midst of the thicket. There were two overgrown stumps of once mighty trees, on either side of a fountain, so covered in ivy, and so thick with waterlilies, that Glorfindel had taken the sound of the falling water for a natural spring. A slim figure, hooded and cloaked, sat on the rim of the fountain, one hand on the marble basin, the other trailing in the water. Without looking up, or turning, and as though speaking to himself, Ingwë spoke 'Who has put fish in my fountain ? How did they come here else ? Someone has carried them here, look !'

 

Glorfindel laughed, but felt a storm of emotions. Ingwë, the high king of all the elves, favoured of Manwë and of Varda Elbereth, lady of the stars ! The fountain, that Glorfindel had neither seen nor heard tell of, so old, lost and forgotten that some jesting elf had put fish in it. Ingwë himself, sitting so small on the stone rim, had built this ruin. The water dripped onto the flat leaves, and the woods were silent in the heat of Laurelin. The terrible age of Ingwë crushed the heart of Glorfindel, who bowed and said softly 'How may I serve you, my king ?'

Ingwë stood and smiled 'Look, do look at the fish !'

Glorfindel leaned over the basin and peered into the shadowy water. There, glinting in and out of the spears of light, were small silvery fish. As he smiled, Ingwë moved, twisting Glorfindel's arm up behind his back and bending him backwards until he could not move.

 

'What game are you playing, farm boy ? Why is Aistalar the fair standing naked in the road ? There is a crowd at my gate, already, all of whom have ridden at speed upon the instant you were seen, to howl for retribution.' He sighed 'Retribution...

I had to see for myself. He has turned into a rare beauty, it was perceptive of you to find him. When I asked you in the House of Curumo to scout for us, this was not what I expected you to find !

But it is your pleasure to surprise, I can see. We were surprised to hear of your liaison with the actor, less surprised that you turned to Erestor, but very surprised indeed that you did not venture forth into the busy social life of the great city. And you have utterly neglected to report to me. But since there has been no mention of you in anyone else’s reports, I have been right, I think, in concluding that you had nothing to tell ?' He paused, and Glorfindel nodded silently, cautiously shifting one foot to ease a straining muscle in his back. The sinewy strength of Ingwë was not to be underestimated. 'So. Until now, when you have surprised us all again, snatching up the helpless Aistalar, of whom no one had the least expectation, and parading him naked through the streets. What is your stratagem, Glorfindel ?'

'Sire, bind me if it please you, but release me from this painful posture lest my legs buckle beneath me.'

Ingwë snorted and released him, and Glorfindel stood up carefully, stretching his shoulders and twisting himself straight. Ingwë folded his arms and frowned at Glorfindel, who blushed and bowed his head.

'Sire... I... We are leaving the city, at once, we shall live at Beech Ridge, far from any who might be troubled by such beauty.'

 

Ingwë sighed and looked away, then moved towards Glorfindel, smoothly throwing his cloak back over his shoulders. His tunic was undyed, faded by washing to the colour of pale skin, and woven of a fabric so fine and light that it seemed made of mist or smoke. In the heat it clung to the damp skin of the elf like the first frost on the slopes of Oiolossë. Glorfindel, already driven into frenzy by his passion for Aistalar, found his mind sliding into molten rock. Desire and peril were all around him, he could scarcely breathe. Ingwë looked intently into his eyes and spoke in a low voice of cold command.

'Lay your hand upon my throat Glorfindel.'

Glorfindel blinked, then looked at the low neck of the sheer tunic, and up at the golden throat. As obediently as Aistalar, and with less thought, he laid his hand gently across the throat of the high king.

'I am listening.' said Ingwë.

 

But the world had changed for Glorfindel. He was aware of the presence of Ingwë as intensely as he was aware of the Trees at his back. The heat of the golden skin, the faint slide of his hand against the sheen of sweat, the beating of his heart, the heart of the High King ! Glorfindel found his mind at once clouded with desire and yetthrough the clouds, rising above the mist, a forest of golden trees, trees of Light, grew in brightness around them until even the two ivied stumps rose once more and flourished into a vision of radiant beauty. Glorfindel gazed about him in awe.

'What is it ? What are you showing me ?'

'What do you see ?'

'A forest, but every tree is golden light, glowing through the mist, as far as I can see.'

Ingwë nodded gravely 'The trees, yes, many see the trees. For others... well, if you had paid any heed to your studies, you would know. But come, what do you think you truly see ?'

Glorfindel shrank back a little, ashamed of his neglect. He was blundering through Tirion like a fool, ignorant of the most basic things, a squalling child... 'Sire... I... forgive my... I cannot say, indeed, except perhaps, as I look, the trees seem to move, as though lightning played beneath deep water, moving slowly as ripples. I... but what that may signify, I cannot say.'

'No. Nor can any other. The Ainu have sung to us at length, but we do not have the wit to grasp the world as they perceive it. But here, where now the silver fish swim, the Light of the Trees has strong resonance with the minds of the Eldar, and here I built a fountain, when first we came here, and here our finest sculptors rendered the Trees in imperishable stone. But a seer among us, Hendumaica, bade us leave the site to time, even in this imperishable land, to serve as a warning to us of our own fading. 'As we fade, so shall the trees brighten.' So said the seer.'

'And do they brighten ? What are they ? What do you think they are, sire ?'

'No, they do not brighten, not yet ! As to what they are... It may be that they are all leaves of one mighty tree, or flames of one mighty fire, the flame imperishable. But there are those who say it is the lives of each of us, passing through time, turning from the vigour of motion and awareness to the peace of oblivion as part of the completed work of the world, woven into time by Vairë, each in place.' He smiled, and Glorfindel felt the depth of memory of the long Ages in his kind blue eyes, raised under the stars, long before the Trees were ever heard of. He could picture the swift Ingwë, silent in the forest, more fell than aught that walked Arda, save Oromë, and the Enemy. 'But in all their debates and discussions, there are ever two tendencies, there are those who see motion, and those who see stillness. I... for me there is motion, how not ?' He sighed, and his eyes pierced the spirit of Glorfindel, intensely blue, focused and sharp as an attacking eagle.

'Still I listen, Glorfindel. What is your purpose ? Why is Aistalar naked in the road ?'

Glorfindel swallowed, he had forgotten Aistalar. He turned to the road but could see and hear nothing. Laurelin was blinding, they had missed the moment. He understood then that Ingwë had intercepted him, them, deliberately. He hung his head, and felt his hand move slightly on the throat of Ingwë. He could not grasp what was happening to him, it was like being held under water, he wanted to thrash, and flee.

 

Finally he gathered his spirit about him like a tattered cloak and slowly raised his head. The blue eyes were darker, Ingwë seemed less remote, more like an elf than the dread servant of Manwë who had scoured his mind.

'Sire... I have no purpose, I seek no... nothing. I... I had to. I had to uncover him. I cannot say why. Until... Until you showed the trees to me, he filled my mind, there was no doubt in me, until we approached Ezellohar, and then they came for me like bats...' he winced and fell silent. Ingwë looked thoughtful.

'Bats ? There are few who see wings. I must face serpents, they coil around the trees, and my limbs and... Yes. Each of us is marred.

But you, Glorfindel, are held to be less marred, by some who are considered wise in such lore, and are being watched with interest, and hope. And all was well, our expectations were surpassed, you took up with Erestor, and Turgon, and Ecthelion, a most promising youth. But no, you have confounded us again. Who stripped Aistalar, Glorfindel ? Was it you, or was it a... a bat ?'

 

Glorfindel gaped at the High King. He felt that every part of him had been separated from every other part and was laid out on a bench while Ingwë critically examined each separate piece.

'Do you read my thought ?' he asked.

Ingwë shook his head 'I could, but I want you to tell me. You will understand yourself more clearly when you have tried to explain the truth of your deeds.'

'I... No, it was I. I thought of Beech Ridge almost at once. I knew he would be made unhappy to be dragged around naked, and I could not bear to see him covered. I hesitated, for I did not wish to leave the life of the city so soon, but then I recalled the peace, and the sweet air of the country, and it seemed a little thing to give up. But whether or no, I could do no other than seek him out, and once in his presence I must uncover him, and once he was naked under my eyes, I must have my hand on him...'

 

He stopped, and looked in fascination at his hand, around the throat of the High King. The silence roared with possibility, Glorfindel saw himself throwing Ingwë over the rim of the fountain, tearing off that flimsy tunic and...

But then he remembered his own arm bent behind his back, and the voice of Ingwë in his ear, the deadly menace, as thinly veiled as the body of Ingwë, warm beneath his hand. His skin tingled, he wanted to flee again, not in fear but in mortification at his own raging, and all too visible desire. But as he struggled to breathe, the clarity of Meditation returned to him, and he understood the terrible power of Ingwë, and why he was High King, as though for the first time. He thought of Finwë, sharp witted and clever, bustling and energetic, and he could see that the two Elves would respect each other, but prefer to keep at arms length. He wanted to laugh, but could not say why. Suddenly Ingwë smiled happily.

 

'Oh Glorfindel, forgive me ! I grow suspicious of my own shadow. The seers are anxious, Glorfindel; the ill will between the brethren in Tirion has everyone on edge, and Manwë has shown us things his eagles have seen, things to chill the blood. But here I am, suspicious of you ! You who would no more do harm than you would spout flame from your mouth, for it is not in you.

Play your games, Glorfindel, sport in the innocence of the childhood of the Eldar. But remember, that though your father awoke there: for the elves, there is no returning to Cuiviénen. This does not mean merely that we can never find the place again, for it has been unmade, it means that we can never again become the awoken. We were all born in blood and pain, we know too much about the world, and about ourselves, to sport naked in the fountains like the silver fish.'

'I feel... My spirit feels as naked to your eyes as the flesh of Aistalar is to mine.'

Ingwë smiled 'But as Aistalar has naught that he would conceal or withold from you, so for you, there is naught that you would conceal or withold from me.'

 

The silence grew between them, Glorfindel fought to lift the great weight that crushed his chest, and drew in a gasping breath. Ingwë nodded 'There is great desire between us. I had suspected it, for you have been much on my mind since you caught the sword.

Listen to me now, Glorfindel, my golden flower, for I have need of you.' He smiled slowly, his eyelashes lowering slightly, before sweeping up to dazzle Glorfindel with the bright blue of his eyes. Glorfindel struggled to keep his hand still, he longed to grip the smooth throat, and... He could feel the blood quicken in the veins of the High King, he wondered if Ingwë had intended to bring this about, or if he were merely being tested, and the swiftly beating heart of Ingwë signified merely the heightened awareness of the hunter.

But Ingwë spoke softly 'Listen closely Glorfindel. Change is upon us. None can say the form it may take, but it will come. This strife in the House of Finwë is seen as a sign, a track in the forest, of the wider problem, the work of the Enemy sowing division among the Eldar.

We need you, Glorfindel. We need your... your golden hair, and your overpowering charm. We need you in the city, listening carefully. And Glorfindel, I am minded to add to your burden. You have... You have demonstrated your power, whether that was your intention or no, in the naked elf you marched through Tirion. Those who had dismissed you will now be alerted to you. You must learn caution, you can never again act with such reckless disregard for, well, for everything !' he laughed 'Oh Glorfindel, it is such a delight to my heart to see you again ! Why have you never visited me ?'

'Sire...I am nobody, I did not presume...'

'I am certain that at the House of Curumo, you were not only invited but encouraged to report to us.'

'Sire, I have noticed nothing ! I could tell you at length about the fitness of the various athletes, and advise you on wagers at the next event, but I see nothing of thesons of Finwë, save only for Turgon, to whom I have pledged my arms.'

Ingwë nodded. 'Very well. You may take your trophy to Beech Ridge. But you shall be guarded, for as you have shown, it is all to easy to overpower an unguarded elf. Two of my own guards will accompany you, you may select others from among your... friends.' His mouth twitched as he suppressed a smile, and suddenly he was close against Glorfindel, his pale lips a breath away 'I wish I could come' he whispered, then stepped back and spun the cloak through the air until it swirled neatly around him, covering him completely. He drew up the hood 'But when you have spent your first passion, leave him in the hands of the guards from time to time and return alone to Tirion. Befriend those who speak loudest of hatred. Soothe their wrath, make them smile, or better yet laugh, and encourage them to look kindly on those they would despise.'

Glorfindel sighed, but looked at him with round eyes 'Just me, alone ?'

Ingwë smiled at him thoughtfully 'I think you need not fear being alone. For who could withstand you ? I cannot.'

He turned and was gone, as suddenly as though a curtain had been thrown over him, as though Yavanna herself had cloaked him in the living green of the forest.

 

Glorfindel looked down at his hand, dazed by the touch and the stunning intensity of Ingwë, his beauty, his wisdom, his unimaginable age... The stillness of the clearing seemed to tremble, as though a great fall of rocks had shaken the ground, but the tremors were all within himself. He breathed carefully and looked around, wondering that no song had ever mentioned this place, remembered that Ingwë had not told him the name then wondered if he had ever been listening properly. He sighed, and slowly his curiosity rose through the turmoil of his thought.

Glorfindel stepped over to the ivy covered stump, as thick as his outstretched arms, and lifted aside the green veil. Beneath was crumbling marble, the base of a mighty tree of stone, that the newly arrived Elves had built in their innocent awe at the Trees. Glorfindel imagined the monument as a thing made of light, and time as a shadow moving slowly over the light, not consuming it, but merely causing it to cease to be. He felt a deep regret for the lost past, for those slain by the Enemy, who had never had the chance to see Valinor, for the lost past of Ingwë, which he would never see, for Ingwë, eager and proud, directing the builders, lending a hand, wielding a mallet with the masons, covered in glittering dust, wiping his brow with the back of his hand and laughing.

The ivy dropped into place as Glorfindel covered his face with his hands and peered about him through his fingers at the fountain, swallowed almost whole by the myriad tendrils of the forest. But at his feet, on the very spot where Ingwë had stood, a stone flag of ancient floor was visible, only a few dead stalks crawled brokenly across its surface. And the surface was carved, there were letters graven in the stone, Glorfindel stooped to read them, brushing aside the dirt and dead leaves. Each letter had been skilfully carved to resemble the imprint in clay of a living twig. Glorfindel wondered if here was an echo of ancient art, as ancient to Ingwë as this stone was to him, made in tribute to those few among the host who remembered a time when clay had been central to their lives, on the shores of Cuiviénen. If only his father would speak ! But no, Glorfindel must study books and learn from scholars, not from one who had seen it himself. And he wondered if Ingwë had brought him here to encourage him to question his father, to press him for answers. He looked down at the graven letters, which spelled out one word

"Listening"

He knew then that even should his father tell him everything, still he would not understand. For their experience of life was too different; the gulf of time, the change of worlds, truly, there was no returning to Cuiviénen. And amidst the ruins of the monument, the childish copy of the Trees, he felt again that deep gulf of time between himself and Ingwë, and between Ingwë and his father, and knew that the only way he could cross that abyss would be with the help of others, like Ingwë, building bridges of understanding, each one a little further into the unreachable past, until a little of the Music could be heard echoing down to them, a faded image of a lost moment.

 

Aistalar... He sprang fully awake, he had been gone for an age, and Aistalar, who had been fainting with desire as they approached Ezellohar, was naked in the road, alone with the handsome guards of Ingwë. Glorfindel smote his own brow, and understood the full purpose of Ingwë, and marvelled at the cold efficiency which had used Ingwë's own desire as a weapon to further arouse Glorfindel and weaken his resistance. Ingwë needed him in Tirion, watching the Noldor. Glorfindel could not keep Aistalar in Tirion, and he could not be induced to cover him. So Ingwë had sent one he knew had already won the heart of Aistalar, the hero of his youth, to lure him away from Glorfindel, while Ingwë himself, Ingwë himself, thought Glorfindel, savouring the memory of the touch of the warm golden skin, had been the bait to lure Glorfindel. As he shouldered his way through the undergrowth, he gritted his teeth and hoped that Aistalar had been stronger than he himself. For he had known from the moment he saw Ingwë that High King or stable hand, he longed to lay him down and take him til he moaned.

 

 

 

Aistalar was bent backwards, Taeril was taking him. Glorfindel opened his mouth to shout but Erenas lifted a finger in the gesture of stillness from the hunt. Glorfindel froze from habit, but looked with fury upon Erenas, who pursed his lips with helpless sympathy. Glorfindel felt the weight of his exhaustion fall on him like a tree, and leaned back against a nearby trunk to catch his breath, while the lover he had so thoroughly and carefully prepared was taken by another.

Aistalar was moaning frantically, oblivious to the arrival of Glorfindel, as Taeril moved faster, gripping the hands of Aistalar behind his back and holding him by the hip as he thrust into the writhing elf. They found bliss almost together, Taeril lifted his head and groaned with immense satisfaction as Aistalar gasped and shook. Taeril stooped to kiss him briefly then caught sight of Glorfindel.

'There you are. I've kept him warm for you.' Still holding the hands of Aistalar behind his back, he ran his other hand over the bare stomach with a smug smile.

Glorfindel stood swiftly 'This is not the behaviour I would expect from the guards of Ingwë. How dare you !'

Taeril smiled knowingly 'He did not give himself to you then ?'

Glorfindel flushed with rage and embarrassment 'What do you mean ?'

'Oh come on, you have been gone for an age, hiding in the bushes alone with Ingwë. But we could tell at once that he had not given himself to you. He came over here, ran a hand across Aistalar's chest, then took him by the... took him and played with him for a moment. Poor Aistalar was rigid with... well, excitement, shall we say. Then Ingwë looked at me and said 'Yes, take him.' So I did. Aistalar did not object.'

Glorfindel looked at Aistalar, whose eyes filled with tears 'Forgive me, Glorfindel. I... I did not... I could not think... I was so...'

 

But Glorfindel thought of the cold mind of Ingwë, moving them all like pieces on the Stratagem board, and bowed his head.

'No, Aistalar, it is not you who are to be forgiven, but I, for dragging you naked through the streets. Thus am I punished for my arrogance, and you for your folly.'

He looked coldly at Taeril. 'The High King wants Aistalar guarded. He thinks, mistakenly, that I know many suitable people. But I have a notion, do you two ride now to Ilwarin the tailor, and tell him what is needed, and that Aistalar and I will be at his House in four days, to speak with any who wish to serve with us.'

Taeril stood up straight, and released Aistalar, who sagged slightly, but Glorfindel dashed forwards and scooped him up and kissed him as though they had been apart for a year. He wiped the tears from the eyes of his beloved, and was vaguely aware of Taeril and Erenas mounting their horses. But Erenas spoke again.

'What of these guards, sir, what do you seek ?'

Glorfindel stood up straight and looked at him, holding Aistalar close 'It is simple. Aistalar is broken, he cannot defend himself. He is beautiful, it is difficult to resist the touch of his skin. I do not blame you for yielding to the temptation. But there is no one, not even the High King, who can be trusted to keep their hands off him. The guards must be those whose touch would not trouble him'

Erenas looked sidelong at Taeril, who bowed his head 'Look Glorfindel... I mean... I am sorry, you know... But I...' he fell silent. Erenas shook his head and looked seriously at Glorfindel 'We shall be at Beech Ridge by nightfall, sir. Is there aught else we can do for you in Tirion ?'

But Glorfindel, who had bid farewell to the weeping Erestor, shook his head. Erenas nodded and they rode away.

 

When they had passed beyond sight, Glorfindel sagged, then sat down, pulling Aistalar onto his lap and kissing him for a while, until he felt his shoulders loosen, and the hurt and anger faded to the back of his mind. He stroked the hair from the smooth brow of Aistalar. 'What now, my dearest ? Shall we journey on to Ezellohar ?'

But Aistalar looked up at him with round eyes 'Am I truly broken ?'

Glorfindel put a hand over his eyes and pulled it down his face 'I do not know. I do not know what that means, in truth. Are you obedient ? I suspect that you always were. Erestor, in his jealousy, called you dull, by which I think he meant that you will not cause trouble. And you have not. This is the... we are... It was Ingwë himself who did this, my dearest, not you. But broken... No, Ingwë thinks we merely sport as children, and he is old and very wise. I am sure that all will be well.' He paused, and a deeper understanding came to him, of the harm he was doing to the helpless Aistalar. The pain of guilt stabbed his heart. 'Shall I take you home ? In time you will recover, and find love in the usual way, and be happy in Tirion, with your family about you.'

But Aistalar jerked upright in alarm 'Oh no ! No, please do not send me away ! I am so sorry about Taeril, but he was my first... my first... the first person I...'

Glorfindel laughed sadly 'I cannot send you away. You must choose to leave me. But if you are broken, how will we ever know what you would choose ?'

Aistalar settled back in his arms, his eyes closing 'By the void, the thought of life without you was a... a darkness. But come, I have been, ah, satisfied, by Taeril. But you, who have been so patient, are still feverish with desire. Will you not make love to me under Ezellohar, as we had meant ?'

Glorfindel ran a hand down the flesh he had come to know so well 'Feverish... You speak wisely, Aistalar, for Ingwë toyed with us both. Come, I shall show you where we met, and tell you of what passed between us. And then, when I have cleared him from my thought, I shall turn my full attention to you. Besides, you are satisfied. I would taste your hunger...' he smiled from the sides of his eyes and Aistalar shivered and smiled 'Oh Glorfindel ! How differently things have turned out, how strangely...'

'We were ambushed. It will be... It will take all our strength to remain together against those who would drive us apart. Let me show you.'

 

 


	4. Beech Ridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel and Aistalar move to Beech Ridge.

 

    The clearing echoed from the presence of Ingwë, both elves looked carefully at the trees around them, without letting the other know their thought, but when their eyes met, Glorfindel exclaimed wordlessly and drew Aistalar into his arms. 'But Glorfindel' said Aistalar 'What did you wish to show me ?'  
   And Glorfindel looked at the ivied rocks, and the overgrown fountain, and wondered what he had seen here, or felt, or known. But there were only dead stones, and the quiet hum of the life of the forest, and the Light in the empty glade.  
   'I... I cannot say, it... There are fish in the fountain.'  
   Aistalar looked up at him as though he had stated that the leaves were green. 'My dearest love, let us away, let us ride now to Beech Ridge, away from... Away from everything !'

 

   There were no paths to Beech Ridge, for each one who climbed that tumbling hill chose their own way, seeing in every gleam of light between the trees the promise of another magnificent view. And on the high shoulders of the Pelori, they were rewarded. Beech Ridge perched like an eyrie on a shelf of rock, sheltered by cliffs two fathoms high, and nestled among the ancient trees which towered up to meet the first pines of the mountain heights.  
   They had ridden in silence, but Glorfindel, whether through habit, or because he could not help himself, toyed endlessly with the warm bare flesh of the elf in his arms. But as Asfaloth tired, even the insatiable appetite of Glorfindel began to flag, and in the stillness the song of the birds became loud about them. Finally, as Telperion waned to dimness and the shadows darkened about them, a light gleamed down from the hillside, the light of an elven lantern, the light of home.  
   'At last !' cried Glorfindel, and Asfaloth lifted his whole self, it seemed, his ears, his mane, his head, his feet and his pace. The rolling hill had exasperated them all, each summit, they thought, their last... But always the upwards climb had been the longer, and now, on their left, bright beams of Light began to shine through, as they rose above the shadows of the valley and Telperion, at wane, shone yet, brighter than a host of elven lights.  
Asfaloth hurried towards the lantern light, and the faint sound of singing drifted down to them. At last, in a leafy clearing, they saw a scholar, with muddy robes, holding up a lantern and smiling as he sang the Song of Welcome.

   Glorfindel laughed and leapt down, swinging Aistalar behind him, and greeted the scholar, who handed him the lamp 'Forgive my hurrying away, but we thought you should be welcomed, though we are very busy, and I have brought you some supper, just heat it on the fire.' he frowned briefly at Glorfindel 'You at least have been here before ? Then you know where we are, we are pleased to offer any help, or hospitality to our new neighbours. I... Look, I really must go, you are later than we were told, and there is much work... So, farewell, for this time, and stars shine upon you !'  
   

   He bowed and hurried away, and Aistalar looked around the clearing in astonishment, it was as empty as the ruin at Ezellohar, more so, since the scholar had left none of the echo that the thunderous presence of Ingwë had created, still rippling through the spirits of the two young elves.  
   'But Glorfindel, there is nothing here !'  
   'Hush, listen, what do you hear ?'  
   Aistalar was silent, and around him the small sounds grew louder. The scholar hurrying away, impatiently kicking leaves aside, muttering his scholarly thoughts, the newcomers already forgotten. There were badgers nearby, a fox prowling, deer in a nearby hollow tearing at grass, and the sound of owls hunting above. The still air rustled the leaves faintly, but amidst the endless ocean of the trees, a sharper note, a melody of turmoil. 'A stream, a stream, tumbling down the hill !'  
   Glorfindel smiled through hooded eyes 'And now taste the air.'  
   They breathed in together, searching each other’s shining eyes. Aistalar smelt the deep earth, and the crumbling soil, the dry leaves and rotten, the fresh falls, fluttering down around them, and the heady breath of the living trees above. The scents of the creatures of the wood threaded through the air and the earth, and faint on the breeze, whispering of the icy heights above, the smell of snow and the high pines. But closer, and stronger, the scent of the stream, and of a fire, and something more, something a little sour 'Oh ! The hot spring ! I smell the hot spring of Beech Ridge !' Glorfindel grinned triumphantly, as proud as though he had discovered the spring himself. Aistalar laughed 'Oh Glorfindel, it is marvellous, but where is it ? I can see nothing but the trees !'  
   Glorfindel smiled again and kissed him tenderly 'It is hidden, as your beauty was hidden until I uncovered you. Now, if I can find the door, I shall uncover Beech Ridge for you !'  
  
   Glorfindel strode across the clearing to where thick tendrils of ivy reached grasping fingers out in search of holds. He held up the lantern but the shadows did not fade, there was a wall, covered in ivy, hidden from all but those who knew the secret. Glorfindel looked up at the tree beside him, then took three paces west and stepped forwards. He thrust a hand into the ivy and there he found the handle, turned the latch and pushed open the low door in the wall. He turned to Aistalar with a merry grin 'I have it ! Follow me !'  
   Aistalar looked uncertaintly at the dark doorway 'But what of Asfaloth ?'  
   'Asfaloth has been here before, but we shall tend him ere we dine ! Come, it is very different inside !'  
   Aistalar sighed, then stooped to enter the mysterious Beech Ridge.

 

   Glorfindel had hurried forwards and was lighting lanterns, while Aistalar stood gaping at the splendour of the abandoned Vanyar house. The outer walls were curved around the edge of the shelf of rock, fronted by a porch of many arches, each twined with the honeysuckle, which hung its heady golden flowers from the roof, until the whole seemed merely a frame for the greater glory of honeysuckle.  
   Within the porch, tall windows echoed the arches, and the growing light of the numerous lanterns shone through into the fine, simple rooms, furnished in the Vanyar style, plain pieces, but perfectly made. And beyond the crescent of fine rooms, high in the branches of the beech trees, the real home of the Vanyar who had lived here long before, the talans of the old country, with awnings draped between the high branches and a hall only for the fire.  
   But Glorfindel seized his hand and dragged him back to the low door, gesturing excitedly. 'Look ! Isn’t it glorious ! And nobody lives here ! Oh, people come here at times, to have long meetings or such, but nobody lives here !'  
   Aistalar frowned 'What of our host ?'  
   'Host ? The scholar ? No, they work down the hill, there is a cave, and a few houses. They have studied there for a very long time !'  
   'What do they study ?'  
   Glorfindel frowned and sighed 'I am not certain, the roots of mushrooms, I think.'  
   'The roots of mushrooms ?' Aistalar asked incredulously.  
   'Well... Well I know, but Erestor was trying to explain... It seems that mushrooms are to their roots as blossom is to the mighty tree, that is, important, but a mere fragment of a vast whole...'  
   'Yes, I know that, but what is it that they study ?'  
   Glorfindel looked sombre 'I think they would speak with it, with the creature that brings forth the mushrooms. But first, Oromë and Yavanna are agreed, first they must listen. But of course, Erestor and his people were here to discuss what is meant by 'listening' in such a task.'  
   'What ?'  
   Glorfindel laughed 'Do you ask me the results of their enquiries ? Ha, Erestor is considering yet his first response ! You must read his conclusions when they are put before Tirion.'

 

   They walked hand in hand through the empty rooms, lit by the lanterns on the porch, and by the growing silver Light of Telperion. There were kitchens and artrooms, libraries, music rooms, and rooms with nothing but a single fine sculpture, or jewelled windows. But Glorfindel hurried Aistalar around the long sweep of the old Vanyar house and up a stone stair, carved into the grey rock of the Pelori. It led out into a wide chamber, as large as three rooms. Behind a painted screen, a spring fell from a golden hemlock flower-head, each small flower the source of a rivulet steadier than rain, which fell tinkling into an unseen basin. On the left, where the light was brightest, a small hearth, table and shelves spoke of the kitchen to Aistalar, and beside them were a dining table and chairs, and three couches. But in the centre of the room, curved to fit into the curve of the hill, stood a great bed carven of the very wood of Beech Ridge. It was hung with pale green, as the sheets, but the blanket was deep green, the green of pines, cold on the heights. The room was a marvel of beauty and simplicity, Aistalar gripped the hand of Glorfindel and said wonderingly 'But who lived here ?'  
   Glorfindel kissed him softly 'I know, I asked that, and the scholar said "What do their names matter ? They were happy here, that is their story. All of it." And I think that we can be happy here, as they were. But look, do you sit now on the bed.'  
  
   Glorfindel darted to the windows and began to pull aside the pale green curtains. The Light flooded in, the whole wall was glass, the room seemed a part of the forest, up among the branches like the talans. But he paused, gazing at the hall of fire in the centre of the courtyard, then turned to the rapturous Aistalar, who rose to his feet, gazing at Glorfindel with awe 'How did you... This place is so perfect, so... how did you, how did we ?'  
   Glorfindel looked at the elf, he was wringing his hands, one hand bent backwards, his whole body looked set to writhe; he was startled and fearful, beneath his happiness, and Glorfindel, in his eagerness, had rushed on heedlessly... He paused and clenched his fists, it had been days, mere days, since first he had seen Aistalar, and now they were alone, in the forest...  
   Glorfindel took Aistalar in his arms and stroked his hair 'Hush, forgive me, my dearest, I have behaved terribly, and you, in your kindness have let me get away with it. How is it with you ? Are you, may I offer you wine ? Some miruvor perhaps ?'  
Aistalar looked up at him distractedly 'All those gems in the window, but none anywhere else'  
   Glorfindel laughed 'Yes, my mother is of the Vanyar. Indeed it is a long road from Tirion ! But have you never been to Valmar ?'  
   'No, my brother advised me to wait until I am older, and then I will appreciate them properly.'  
   'So ? My mother was eight hundred when she left them, and I am certain that she properly appreciated them ! But not enough to stay !'  
   'Yes, but you did not stay at Little Gold Tree, and now you are in a house of the Vanyar, singing their praises.'  
    Glorfindel laughed 'Erestor said that you were dull like him, and I see that he is right !'  
   Aistalar laughed with him 'Oh Glorfindel, I think I would like some miruvor, and then some wine !'

 

   They drank and kissed and talked of nothing for a time, until Aistalar began to look about himself, and said 'Did not the scholar speak of fire, and supper ?' They looked at the hearth, a fire was laid, but not lit, there was no sign of food.

   Glorfindel leapt to his feet 'Asfaloth ! My weary steed, standing in his sweat while we take our ease ! Forgive me, I shall be swift.'  
   He darted away, but Aistalar leaped after him, hurrying down the curved stone stair, along the curved hallway into the main hall, and through into the garden.  
   Asfaloth was drinking from the fountain, he blew noisily at Glorfindel, who hurried to ease the great white horse, unpacking his bags and rubbing the sweat from his back. Asfaloth snorted at first, but Glorfindel coaxed him round, and led him down to the lower pool by the orchard, to feast on the windfalls. Asfaloth nudged Aistalar fondly as they bade farewell, but had only a sniff for Glorfindel.  
   'Oh Aistalar, I was worried for you, moving house like this, but it was I who failed in my first duty, neglecting my helpless steed.'  
   'Poor Glorfindel, you would live his life, and my life, and your own life ! But you need not fear, for Asfaloth is not helpless, nor indeed am I, I can cast a spear with deadly force ! Though I am a mediocre fighter, alas... But helpless ? No. Only as helpless as pleases you, my love.'  
   Glorfindel rubbed the frown from his forehead, he could not think clearly; suddenly he snapped his fingers 'Food !' he cried 'I cannot think for hunger ! And when we have dined, I shall show you the hot springs and we shall watch the Light of Laurelin wax.

 

   They found their supper in the hall of fire, in a pot with a lid, set on the great flagstone beneath the low brazier. Glorfindel lifted the pot onto the hook and put another handful of kindling on the fire, which flared into life and licked eagerly at the base of the pot. Aistalar looked around, it was a plain empty room, there were two branches polished for sitting, and nothing else.  
   'Why do we eat here ? Why not in that lovely room ?'  
   Glorfindel looked up with a sly smile 'You have not read Finarfin on "Comparative Cultural Practices in Fire Usage and Application." ?'  
   'What ? No !' Aistalar looked down at Glorfindel, who was holding in a laugh 'No more have you ! Whatever are you talking about ?'  
   Glorfindel gestured around at the empty room 'It is the tradition that the newcomer eat their first meal here, at the hearth of the hall of fire. That respect is paid to the builders of this fine house, and the spirit of welcome they have engendered.'  
   'Oh oh, wait, Comparative Cultural... You are talking about the schisms, and how this meal, here, shows that we know that this is a house of the Vanyar, who build fires only at need. Yet still, the wood elves will have none of them, for setting flame to wood. And then the Noldor, extravagantly lighting fires for amusement or curiosity, drove away the Vanyar...'  
   'Well, I am certain that Finarfin wrote it more eloquently, but yes, that is what Erestor told me. What do you think ?'  
   Aistalar, naked, disoriented, and hungry in more than one sense, looked incredulously at Glorfindel 'Think ? I cannot think ! You must care for this steed now, for I know you will soon wish to ride...'  
   Glorfindel looked up at the secretive smile on the beautiful face, then scooped Aistalar into his arms 'You must take care what you wish for, or it may be granted !'

   They embraced while the fire crackled and the stew bubbled, then Glorfindel unhooked the pot and set it steaming on the flagstone. He unfolded a cloth and there was a loaf of fresh bread, and two apples. They ate hungrily, it had been a long ride, down Túna and up the first of the Pelori, but he smiled to himself, for the stew was worth the wait, and the best was yet to come.  
   As Aistalar bit into his apple, Glorfindel held out his hand. Aistalar looked puzzled for a moment, then laid his hand in Glorfindel's and they stood.  
    'Come now' said Glorfindel 'Laurelin waxes, now is the time to see the hot spring !'

 

   Within the curve of the trees was an open garden, sloping down to the orchard in the west, but narrowing in the east to a small gorge down which a busy stream tumbled over mossy rocks and cascaded into the tiny valley below. The Vanyar had built a pool, with lilies and reeds and a sandy floor, and the stream flowed through, and out past the orchard. But nestled higher among the rocks was the hot spring which had brought the Vanyar to this place to build their talans, and their house.  
   The pool was natural, but the Vanyar, who were happy to nudge the natural order, had lain a pipe from the stream to double the size of the hot spring, and render it pleasant to elven skin. Aistalar gripped Glorfindel's hand 'Oh ! Oh thankyou for choosing me ! Thankyou for bringing me here ! I... Thankyou !'  
   But Glorfindel kissed him slowly and said softly 'Wait.'

   They sat in the pool on benches carved in the rock, and Aistalar finally understood what Glorfindel would have him see. The bench was at the perfect height, the trees were tall about them, rustling with life, and the calling of birds. The water was warm as a lover’s embrace, from the hall of fire a faint wisp of smoke rose against the bright southern sky. For Laurelin waxed golden, and the dazzling beams rose through the trees of Beech Ridge, lighting up each leaf, gilding bare branches, turning every twig to gold, until Aistalar felt himself melt away into the beauty of the Music.

 

   They watched the Light in silence, letting their senses become accustomed to the new place, and to each other. Glorfindel became increasingly aware of the breathing of Aistalar, how even and steady it had grown, and he smiled to himself. This was no union in the fierce Light of Ezellohar, this was two young elves, who had found each other in the crowd, and come away to be alone, to be together.  
   But Aistalar suddenly jerked to full alertness, and turned to Glorfindel 'Ingwë sends guards here ?'  
   Glorfindel sighed and leaned his head back against the rock 'Alas... Well, it will not be so bad, there will be Taeril and Erelas, whom you know already, and the others you may choose yourself.'  
   'Taeril ! Oh no ! It cannot be...'  
   'But my dear, you were there when we spoke of this, in three days we shall ride to Tirion to fetch them.'  
   'There when... do you speak of the road by Ezellohar ? There ? Where I...' he bowed his head 'Where I, instead of waiting a little time for my love, let myself be taken at the whim of a passing stranger !'  
   'Oh Aistalar, we have spoken of this ! It is my fault, you trusted me, and I left you at the mercy of...' he frowned, and his tone became stern 'Ingwë did this, coldly and deliberately, to come between us. You know this !  
   But though he were Manwë, or Erú Ilúvatar himself, he cannot command our hearts !    Listen now, there will be guards, what of it ? We shall forbid them our room, there are many other rooms, they will not suffer. We need not see them, save here in the pool. The scholars use the pool from time to time, but truly, when last I came here, I wallowed alone in this pool for, well, days !'  
   Aistalar shook his head 'No, I do not fear their eyes, but I grieve for the hurt that my weakness has caused you.'  
   Glorfindel looked thoughtfully at him 'You do not speak of Erestor, does he trouble you so little ? We were lovers, Erestor and I, for two years.'  
   'You have told me that you did not love him. I believe you.'  
   'And so, I ask you, do you love Taeril ?'  
   'No ! Of course not !'  
   'Of course not. Yet he is handsome, a celebrated athlete, high in the favour of Ingwë, and you admired him as a child.'  
   'You are all of those things and more ! And you... You came to me, you found me, in a way that I think no other could have. If you had not come, I think I would have slept forever, dreaming away my life in obscurity like my mother and father, never truly living, never doing anything interesting, never imagining coming here !'  
   Glorfindel lifted his goblet and toasted Aistalar, who drank with him, and smiled.  
   'It had been my intention to take you first here, in the pool, but now that I have seen you pale against those dark green covers, I would take you to our room, and light the fire, for I am only half a Vanyar, and I love a Noldor.'

 

 

   There were stone seats carved into the walls on either side of the hearth, for the mountain air was cool after the heat of the valley. They sat drying their hair, Glorfindel had stayed bare, and their limbs glowed in the light of the fire. But there was a shyness to both of them that made Glorfindel think of miruvor. Yet he frowned, wondering what had become of the gripping passion that had driven him here. But he looked around at the room he had shared with Erestor, and remembered laughing with him over breakfast at the table, and suddenly he knew.  
   'We must eat here ! Come, sit, I shall find something, be it only lembas and water !'  
   'Lembas ? I have not tasted it since scouting lessons as a child. Do you eat it often ?'  
   'Not I ! I am far too greedy to ever forget to pack food ! Lembas !' he snorted and laughed as he opened jars and pots, then finally cried out joyfully, and lifted a cake from a large crock 'Hunter’s Treat !' he exclaimed, and Aistalar rose to his feet with a smile. It was the cake of the forager, there were no fixed recipes, only flour, nuts, fruit, a little miruvor, and a sprinkle of bakers salts to lighten it. Glorfindel laid a plate on the table, then reverently placed the Hunter’s Treat on it. Aistalar felt his mouth water as Glorfindel cut into the moist dark cake, then hurriedly took up two plates for them. The cake gleamed in the firelight, true treasure, that brings life and strength, comfort and pleasure. They sat at the table and ate the cake in their new home, smiling at each other, and at the beauty of the room, and the fading light of Laurelin through the Beeches.

   But as Aistalar lifted the last of his slice to his mouth, he was astonished to find his throat closing, and his eyes filling with tears. Meeting Glorfindel had taken him so far from his life that he had been lost, utterly lost. But eating familiar cake, at a beautiful table in a fine house, he suddenly felt his life spring into focus around him; but he was naked, he had been naked for a long time, and there was a stranger watching him with predatory eyes. But Glorfindel saw the distress and leapt to his feet.  
   'Oh Aistalar ! I am so sorry ! Of course you are upset, it is all difficult and distressing, change always is. But this is change for the better ! Come, you know that we shall be happy here ! But now you are tired and must rest. I will hold you while you sleep.'  
   Aistalar looked up at him, remembering being held by him, and swallowed, then rose to his feet and slid his arms around the waist of Glorfindel, who drew him close and stroked his hair 'My lovely Aistalar' he murmured 'My naked elf.'

 

   There were no more obstacles, the naked elf was in his arms, they were at Beech Ridge, alone. Asfaloth was contented, the fire was lit, they had eaten, they had bathed, in the hot spring and in the Light of Laurelin. Aistalar seemed almost to purr in his arms. He kissed the fine dark hair and smiled to himself. Smoothly he scooped Aistalar into his arms and laid him on the bed, and tenderly kissed him. Aistalar looked up at him with darkened eyes 'I am no longer tired, is there anything that you wish ?'  
Glorfindel raised his head and looked down into the shining eyes, savouring his moment of triumph, feeling that although mere days had passed, he had been pursuing the fleeing Aistalar for an age. He frowned for a moment, then shook away his doubts, and stooped to kiss the waiting lips of his beloved.  
   The skin was salt beneath his tongue, he explored the planes and valleys, he tasted the sweat of passion, he moved down, and brought up his hands, and parted the long slim legs, to reach the tender flesh between. There was moaning, but he did not heed it, his eyes closed, he fed like the lion, as his living prey writhed beneath his touch. His tongue probed the small crevasse, and his prey arched in his hands, and he lifted his head and looked with pride at his domain, ripe for conquest.

   The first thrust almost finished him, he had waited too long, it seemed. But the serene beauty of the naked elf cooled him like water, he blinked, and breathed deeply, and began to move, slowly sliding deeper into the heat of his prey, until the dark eyes looked up at him and closed, as the tender lips parted, and he stooped to feed again.  
   And the final obstacle stood before him, sheer and impassable to his frenzied mind. He must bring release to his lover before he himself at last attained that ecstasy he had glimpsed when first he had seen Aistalar. He sucked in air and thought of Meditation, but his mind was filled with the memories of his hasty courtship. He thought of the first sight of him naked, of their first kiss, of his sudden decision to take him to Beech Ridge, of Ingwë...  
Aistalar's breath came loud and ragged, swift and shallow. He was thrusting against Glorfindel, opening himself deeper as Glorfindel felt his own flesh begin to bolt; moving faster than his own will could push it, his body hammered into the naked elf, gasping, their faces side by side, scarcely aware of each other or themselves, caught in the convulsions of the animal, until with a shocking suddenness the obstacle was rent asunder, and Aistalar, the naked elf, was groaning, and kissing his face, and his lips, and Glorfindel smiled proudly at him, and then at last he felt the liquid heat of bliss as he claimed his victory.

 

 


	5. Joined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel and Aistalar dine with Olórin and make plans.

 

   Glorfindel was dreaming of Aistalar, a dream so clear he hardly knew when he awoke, for Aistalar was astride him, riding him, taking him deep inside, with head thrown back and hoarse breath gasping through parted lips. Glorfindel, through the storm of arousal, looked in surprise at his beloved, who had seemed to live only to please him. It was their third day at Beech Ridge, and they had risen from happiness to joy, and from joy to bliss, as though to some intensity of union in which they would become indivisible, would become one.  
   But as he watched his lover lifting himself, to fall onto Glorfindel, to impale himself on Glorfindel, it came to the thought of Glorfindel that he had never considered the pleasure of Aistalar to be real, as his was real. There was no victory in being taken, there was no pride of possession, there was no power. He frowned, for a moment he had a cold sense that power might not be a worthy aim, power for itself, to merely gloat... 

   But Aistalar, the naked elf, was riding faster, the mind of Glorfindel was drowned in desire, and he lay still, feeling the strong hands of Aistalar grip his waist, and seeing the dark hair lash back and forth as Aistalar moved, and burning from the heat of his body and his passion. Aistalar cried softly 'Ah, ah yes...' and became rigid for a moment, then heaved a great sigh, and for the first time, looked into the eyes of Glorfindel.   
   'Aistalar... I... Wait...'  
Aistalar smiled, and lifted himself up, then lay beside Glorfindel, still gasping for breath       'Here I am.'  
   Glorfindel smiled and turned onto him, running his hand over the conquered territory of his lover, then parted his thighs and slid into him. Aistalar looked sleepily up and smiled. Glorfindel, through the clouds of desire, could feel thoughts, cold thoughts, clamour for his attention, but his need drove him, deeper into the naked elf, and with swift thrusts he found the path to escstasy, and cried out his triumph, then sighed, and stooped over to kiss his beloved, who raised parted lips to greet him.   
   They lay silent for a time, kissing, stroking warm flesh, their breath and their bodies mingled on the great bed, as the full Light of the Two trees bathed them in its glory.

   But Glorfindel raised his head and looked down at Aistalar 'Do you truly relish being taken ?'  
   Aistalar blinked at him, then saw that he was serious and gaped at him. 'Do you think my pleasure is counterfeit ? Do you call me false ?'  
   Glorfindel kissed him hurriedly, then passionately. There was another long silence, but the busy silence of lovers reassuring each other of their feelings. At last Aistalar spoke softly 'I do not understand your thought.'  
   'Nor I... I am... We are so young...'  
   'People marry younger than we are. But yes, we are young.'  
   'Well... I suppose I understand how it is between males and females, but with two, with us... I had thought, deep inside, I suppose, that only I truly find bliss in our... our love, and that you... Well, I did not truly think this, you see, but it must have been in my mind. I thought that you, well, you enjoyed my pleasure, because you love me.'  
Aistalar looked at him with round astonished eyes 'What ? Truly ? You must think that I adore you as a Vala !' he sniffed 'Perhaps I do. But have you never, in all your time with Erestor, let him take you ?'  
   'No, of course not ! I do not love him ! I told him so !'   
Aistalar laughed 'You told all Tirion, just to be certain ! But Glorfindel, there was the actor, Melairë, I suppose you took him too ?'  
Glorfindel nodded silently, uncomfortable with the path of his thought, feeling that he had missed something important, as though he had only ever seen Laurelin, and missed the blinding beauty of Telperion, that while all around him basked in the Light, yet he himself was half in shadow. Aistalar stroked his cheek tenderly. 'My darling Glorfindel, do you think that the actor fell instantly in love with you, and offered himself for your pleasure alone ?' he watched the golden face crease with thought 'Oh Glorfindel, he took his pleasure from you, as I have just done, though you slept long under me !'  
   'I was dreaming of you !'  
   'The dream was real. As is my pleasure ! And that of Melairë, and Erestor ! Come, when we are rested, you shall lie still, and I shall show you the melting bliss of submission.'  
   But Glorfindel threw him off and leapt from the bed 'No ! No ! It is not for me ! Even Ingwë ! He read my thought, he sees through our thought like clear water, he saw what I would do to him, and still he spoke of the desire between us. No ! There is none, none ! to whom could I submit !'  
   'Least of all me ?' said Aistalar softly, watching Glorfindel bite back the swift agreement.

   They froze, Glorfindel, magnificent and filling the room, his mane of golden hair moving like bright flame in the full Light, he towered over the bed and the naked elf. But Aistalar reached out a hand, and Glorfindel, having asserted himself, took the hand, and lay beside his lover and looked into his eyes 'I have much to learn, it seems.' he said gruffly.   
   Aistalar sighed 'Why did you undress me, beautiful Glorfindel ? Am I the flag, to carry before the armies you will lead ?'  
   Glorfindel looked at him in astonishment 'What armies ? Against what foe ? The Enemy is beyond the reach of elven swords !'  
   'Oh, I do not know, I speak metaphorically. But you truly are a creature from the old world, there is wildness in you, wilderness even... I think these great lords see that wilderness, see what you could become, and wish to plant their own crops. But Glorfindel, I am your naked elf, your lover, Aistalar son of Brethil, not a great lord. I do not seek power, how can you think it ? You cannot ! But I would show you a realm of pleasure that you have, it seems, never even imagined to exist.'  
   Glorfindel sighed and buried his face in Aistalar's throat, and licked him, thinking hard. His teeth clenched as he recalled Celegorm attacking his sister. He found the anger scarcely faded, and wondered if it ever would. But that had nothing to do with Aistalar; he knew he was avoiding the thought.   
   He found himself afraid; behind all his protests, he was afraid. He feared that Aistalar would gloat over him, as he himself had gloated triumphantly over those he had taken. He could not imagine a future in which they took turns on each other, his mind recoiled. His dream was dispersing like smoke in the wind. He lifted his head, and looked into the eyes of Aistalar 'I cannot.' he said simply.   
   Aistalar smiled 'I am no Ingwë, but I see a little of your heart. You need not fear, I do not seek power, neither over you, nor over others. I am content to take each day, singing beneath the Trees as we have ever done. Perhaps you are more of a Noldor than even I, for all my dark hair !   
   But I think you are wrong about the place of power in love. I think it has no place at all, there is only love.'  
   'But I do love you !'  
   'Yes. But you did not take me to Ezellohar. You love me, but you are not in love with me. I think, deep in your heart, you seek a perfect love, that will cause you to forget yourself altogether. It is that abandonment of self that marks love out from desire. Of course, we abandon ourselves to desire, or to wine... But desire, like wine, is fleeting, and love, true love, lasts.'  
   Glorfindel pondered the words of his love. 'Do you say that I must prove my love by submitting to you ?'  
   Aistalar laughed delightedly 'Ha ! Would you ? I almost think you would. No. You will not understand.' he sighed 'Listen, listen carefully. If you love someone, you feel no apartness from them. Their pain is your pain, their pleasure is your pleasure. So, that is what you thought, with part of your mind, seeing my pleasure in you. But you do not consider my experience, nor that of Erestor, nor Melairë. Believe us, Glorfindel, the pleasure is not because of your pleasure, though love enhances it ! The pleasure is within, in the fire of my own flesh. That is why I rode you while you slept, impaling myself, with ecstasy ! I thought that you would awaken at once, and turn me over, but no, you lay staring with half-closed eyes at the Light on the ceiling, and I... Thankyou for letting me finish what I had started.'  
   'I have not let you finish. You are right. But all my being recoils from...'  
   Aistalar smiled softly 'You were patient with me. And you have learned much, toying with poor Erestor. These lessons you have taught to my naked flesh, and now I would have you reap the fruits of your labours. For up until now, your power has been only that of the horse, which carries the rider but knows naught of his purpose. But we can speak, neither as horse nor rider, nor even elves, but with our bodies, in the language of love, and Glorfindel, I fear that up until now you have sung alone, like Eru, rather than together as the Valar do. Listen now, with your body, and I will sing of my love, in the language you know best.'  
   Glorfindel lay silent in his arms. Aistalar raised himself on one elbow and looked down into his eyes. They were filled with tears, though his frown was stern. Finally he looked up into the eyes of the naked elf.  
   mI know' he said hoarsely, and cleared his throat 'I know that your words are wise, and true, yet still I... Let me... Give me time... I must think. You spoke of patience, you must be patient with me.'  
   'We do not have time.'  
   'What ? What do you mean ?'  
   'You are taking me to Tirion tomorrow.'

   Glorfindel gaped at him, the time seemed not to pass at Beech Ridge, only the Light, waxing and waning, silver and golden, changed in the stillness of the trees. They had drifted through the rooms, floated in the pool, stood yelling beneath the icy fountain in the great bedchamber, and fed each other on dainties from the hamper that Glorfindel had brought.    And by the fire, with every appetite sated, they had smiled into each other’s eyes and sung together, in the molten harmony of love. There could be no interruption of their idyll; he frowned at the thought of intruders, and his mind turned to Ingwë. This was his doing, if not for Ingwë they would be wed, there would have been such bliss at Ezellohar that this awful awkward conversation would never have...  
   'Curse that interfering elf ! Guards ? The scholars have been here forever, yet no trouble has reached them here !'  
   'That may be because there was nothing here to bring trouble.'  
   'Well, we brought no treasures !'  
   Aistalar was silent, but his pale cheeks burned red. Glorfindel closed his eyes briefly, seeing vividly the ecstasy of release in the lovely face as Taeril took him on the side of the road. Aistalar himself was the treasure here, Glorfindel did not consider himself as part of the treasure, nor wonder at the interest of Ingwë. He took love for granted, for all who met him had been charmed, or at worst polite.   
   'Oh Aistalar, you are the treasure ! I... already I take you for granted.'  
   'You took me for granted.' Aistalar smiled warmly at him, and they remembered the garden of the house of Brethil.   
   'I...' Glorfindel found himself in a storm, the winds blew icily around the furnace of his passion, his heart yearned to offer himself to the lovely Aistalar, but still, cold within him, he could not endure Aistalar to have power over him. 'I cannot give you power over me.' he said dully.  
   'Power ? What are you talking about ? I have the power to stroke your flesh, this gives you pleasure. Does that make you feel 'taken' or 'overpowered' ?'  
   'Sometimes' said Glorfindel with a lover’s smile 'Sometimes when you touch me I feel I shall ignite.'  
   Aistalar smiled 'It is only touching. It is all touching. What goes where, that is not important. Shall I tell you a secret ? I love it best when you play with my feet.'  
   'Your feet ?'  
   'Yes, it is strange, they are most sensitive, and when your hands... Well, the touch is very intense. But what of it ? If I stood over you, and you knelt before me, touching my feet, who would have the power ? I, standing tall over you ? Or you, affecting me deeply with the touch of your hands.'  
   'Oh Aistalar you are hurting my mind ! All these difficult questions, I cannot think !'  
   Aistalar looked at him, appalled 'We have not broken our fast ! We are hungry ! Come, let us eat, and when you are rested...'  
   Glorfindel seized him, pinned him down and kissed him firmly 'When we are rested, I shall still desire only to take you.'  
   'And when you are sated, I shall seduce you.'

 

   But their meal was interrupted by the sound of a horn gaily blowing. They looked at each other in surprise, then Glorfindel hurried into some clothes, and to the door. A herald of Finwë was there, with letters.  
   'Stars shine upon you Glorfindel, I shall not stay, for others also dwell in the wild, and the mail must move !'  
   'Valar guide your steps !' cried Glorfindel, but with a dazzling smile the messenger was gone, and as the soft thud of hooves faded away, Glorfindel looked down at the letters in his hand. There were three for him, and two for Aistalar.  
   They read as they ate, Olórin wanted them to dine at his house, Erestor wished them joy, and his sister conveyed love from his parents and many good wishes from friends and neighbours. But her own news had him rise to his feet, and Aistalar gazed up at him in concern, his own letters forgotten.  
   'Grim tidings ?'   
   'Why no, my sister is betrothed ! To a wandering bard, a Vanyar, she says' he looked at the letter and sat down, turning the pages 'yes, she says that he found his skills wasted singing to the Valar, and has come down from Taniquetil to carry the echoes of the Music to all the elves.' he looked into the eyes of Aistalar who smiled.  
   'Naturally you wish to meet him.'

   There was a long silence. Glorfindel lowered his eyes, his cheeks burning. But Aistalar put out a hand and laid it upon his. They gripped each other tightly and Aistalar said 'Go then, and convey my gratitude to your parents, and my best wishes to your sister.'  
   But Glorfindel drew in a great breath 'She asks for the help of my friends and I to build the new wing for her and Nandaro. It will take time. You must come ! But you need have no fear ! My father, as you know, was at Cuiviénen, and my mother loves him. He may... he might... I... he never speaks of it, you see. I wonder, I wonder if seeing you will loosen his tongue... I cannot say.   
   But we live in the country, it is quiet, and you who have looked into the eyes of Ingwë before Ezellohar need fear no blush. Oh, by the stars of Varda ! I have it ! That is why he came ! The worst has already happened, do you see ? Who now shall cause you to blush ?'  
   Aistalar rose to his feet and gazed towards the Trees, seeing again the shining eyes of Ingwë 'Do you truly think so ?'  
   Glorfindel rose and embraced him 'Who can say ? Such minds are beyond us, he is old, wise, subtle, learned, things that we barely grasp the meaning of. But it is so, he came to you, so, on the road to Ezellohar. He... he showed you your danger, in the kindest way, but he did not forbid you, us...  
   Yes. We shall go to Little Gold Tree, we shall help my sister build her home, and you shall hear my father in joy, for finally he has found a musician to accompany him as he sings.'  
   'Do we not go to Tirion ?'  
   'Yes, we shall set out when Telperion waxes. But soon we shall go home, and my family will agree that you are perfect' he paused to kiss Aistalar 'and it may be that some of those we meet in Tirion will choose to accompany us. I... Should I invite Erestor ? Ecthelion ? Roka ?'  
   'Glorfindel, it is a Building ! You must invite everyone you have ever met, and it will be over in hours, and your new family member will sing the Building Song. There will be no time for formalities or social follies ! Have you never been to a Building ?'  
   'No, no, we live in the country, there has been nothing built as far as the eye can see.'  
   'I helped to build the house of my brother. The joy is unfathomable, truly, and when you see his home, full of light and music, laughter and dancing, and you know that you helped to make it so, then your heart warms as never before !'  
   Glorfindel looked at him in silence 'I am a fool. I have thought only of weapons for so long that I have forgotten their purpose.'  
   'Yet the eagles of Manwë have mighty talons.'  
   'What is the talon without the heart that moves it, or the spirit that directs it ? Let us go to Olórin, let us go now, at once ! He is a wise one, that one, for see, just when I feel most foolish, here is his letter, like a steadying hand on my shoulder.'   
   He rose swiftly to his feet and held out a hand for Aistalar, who looked with regret at their uneaten meal, and thought with regret of their unfinished conversation. Olórin, Tirion and Little Gold Tree; he looked slowly around at the Light through the beeches, listening to the peaceful murmur of the spring and the birds, and sighed for the gentle sweetness of the mountain air.

 

  
   It was a long ride to the House of Olórin, but they were young and vigorous, and sang as they rode down the steep hillside, through groves of ancient trees dripping with mosses, and open glades where saplings sprang eagerly towards the Light and flowers swiftly bloomed, bright and fleeting til the canopy shrouded them in shadows of deep green. But the Light grew as they drew nearer, and flowers were everywhere, large and gaudy, or fine delicate frills falling like fountains over tree and rock, and host to wheeling, cheeping flocks of many coloured birds and butterflies. Bees danced from bloom to bloom, humming contentedly, and Aistalar looked around him with a smile. 'Oh Glorfindel, Beech Ridge is so beautiful, but here among Yavanna's bounty, well...'  
   'I know, but it may be as the dark of Alqualondë, and only when we have been at Beech Ridge among the gentle flowers of the mountain do we see the true richness of the valley.'  
   'I am sure you are right. But oh, I am afraid to face Olórin, in any state, much less like this.'  
Glorfindel held him tightly for a moment 'He is a Maia, to him, the body is a costume. He would be no more troubled by your skin than he would be by a hound. My fear is how well he sees my naked spirit ! I think he will rebuke me.'  
   'No ! I shall forbid it.'

  


   Ecthelion was there, sipping Nectar of Ingwë with a serious elf, as Olórin showed them in, and introduced them. Glorfindel was honoured to meet the famous crafter Curunaco, and tried to express his thought. But Curunaco waved aside his words of praise 'I have designed a new form of joint, I would test it in the building of your sister. It is more complicated than the traditional joint, which suffers from'   
   But Olórin held up his hands 'Please ! We shall speak of such matters as we dine. For now, let us take our ease, for we await another. Faramir the artist comes to draw the perfect elf.'  
   They turned to look at Aistalar who blushed, and stammered 'F..Faramir himself ? I... Me ?'

 

   The artist was more grave even than the crafter, setting up his easel and his palette on a side table, with jars filled with bright colours. He ushered Aistalar onto a couch and arranged his limbs, one arm bent on the cushion, the other laid along his hip.   
   'Are you quite, quite comfortable ? You will not fidget ?'  
   Aistalar nodded silently, in awe of the famous artist, who smiled at him 'All of Tirion clamoured at my door to see this picture. Do you but sit still and your beauty will be known to all.'  
   But Aistalar swallowed and turned to Glorfindel, who smiled at him 'Actors work naked at times, you have seen "The Awakening", it is only flesh, we are all made this way.'  
   'No.' said Ecthelion 'No other elf is so perfect. Oh, they say Fëanor, but his neck is thick with bulging muscles, he has forsaken grace, and harmony, without which there is no music.'  
   There was a silence. The city was divided, Fëanor inspired a fey loyalty that would brook no counsel, and they were strangers gathered. But Olórin laughed gaily 'Fëanor ! Would that he were here ! There was a time when he would have hastened to be here, in such company; the great artist, the crafter with the inspired new notion for a joint, Ecthelion the scholar, Glorfindel the athlete, and the perfect elf, the muse of the moment.' he sighed 'He would have come, once. But now, it seems, his mind is full with his own schemes, and none shall know aught til he has completed his task. But yes, grace... it is long since he laid aside grace.'  
   They were silent, eating the fine delicacies, and watching the artist, who sat and stared at Aistalar for long minutes, then suddenly the charcoal came to life in his hand, and the form of the naked elf appeared, graceful and perfect.

  
   Glorfindel ate too many of the spicy fritters, the plate was empty when Ecthelion turned to it, but Olórin saw the dismay on Glorfindel's face and uncovered another steaming dish of the golden brown fritters with a triumphant flourish.  
   'I have seen you eat these before, young Glorfindel, when you were still clutching at your father’s robe !'   
   'These are as good as my sister makes.'  
   'Yes, it is her recipe. And are we here to count among your friends ? For here we are, as supplicants bearing tribute; Ecthelion the engineer, Faramir the artist, Curunaco offering his invention, and I, well, I shall bring spiced fritters ! You look surprised, my dear elf, but why ? Ingwë himself has told you, you are the talk of Tirion, and beyond ! We would aid you in your Building, for it is all anyone will talk of this season, and we would be there ! Besides, I, and Ecthelion, are fond of you, and would wish to aid you though we laboured alone.'  
Glorfindel felt his throat close, but he looked around at the friendly eyes smiling at him and smiled, a little tremor wavering his lip for a moment 'I... Thankyou Olórin, thankyou all, I welcome you all, as friends, or as building enthusiasts, or for whatever reason moves you ! The more, the swifter, as the song goes, and how we shall sing !'  
   'Will you really let me try the new joint in your building ? I was explaining to Ecthelion'   
Ecthelion nodded and turned to Glorfindel 'May I tell you in simple terms ? The full details...   
Yes ? Well, the joint we use is as a... as the organ of a male, and the opening of a female, and one part fits into the other so. But Curunaco proposes we consider the way the fingers interlock, and cut wood into teeth, or even fans, as the tails of birds. In truth, I must see these joints before I fully grasp them myself, but the principle is sound, and Curumo himself has approved the trial.'  
   'Interlocking fingers' said Glorfindel 'Why, it seems so obvious now that you have explained it, I marvel that it was not done long before.'  
   Olórin clapped his hands together 'Ah, I can explain that, I think, that the notion was there, but we did not yet have the tools, or the skills to carry out the scheme. Then we settled in our way, and the other way was forgotten. But here are the children’s children of those early crafters, full of questions, and with new ways to answer them. But alas, it will not be until the house of your sister outlasts all other buildings made now that those set in their ways will even consider that your idea might have merit !' he laughed 'But there, we have time, yet.'  
   Glorfindel leaned forward and looked at Curunaco 'With new armour, we test it by trying to destroy it, we mimic the attacks of fell beasts, and dint holes if we can. Surely we can mimic the action of time itself, of the wind and the rain, by attacking your joint, and thus show forth its strength ?'  
   Ecthelion sat up 'Oh yes ! We could build, for instance, a box, and challenge them to build one, and Glorfindel shall attempt to destroy them both.'  
   'No, no, no, not Glorfindel, he would merely stamp on them, it would not be... No, I myself shall test them, here in my courtyard, at the time of your choosing.'

 

 


	6. Herenya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following Ingwë's orders, Glorfindel interviews guards for Aistalar.

 

 

   

   There had been hundreds asking for the posts. Ilwaren had sifted through them and narrowed them down to seventy-eight serious, and likely, contenders. They were milling about on the floor below him as he gripped the gallery railing and tried to calm his breathing. That Glorfindel ! Sending orders like some great lord ! And how they had all jumped to obey...  
   But who could resist the naked elf ? How had he done it ? Should he have done it ? Should Finwë have intervened ?  
   But Finwë had referred all questions to Ingwë, and no one had wanted to be the one to speak. And all Tirion was alive with gossip, and the streets were crowded with people taking an overly casual stroll...

   Glorfindel had not arrived. The musicians themselves had their eyes on the door. The would-be guards were circling the room, and each other, sipping cautiously at the very rare wine, and speculating. Ilwaren himself was speculating; there were some lovely elves in the room, one in particular, a dark-eyed Teleri with extravagantly long lashes had caught his attention. He was simply dressed, with only a thick gold band round one wrist for decoration. But his stillness made the movement of the crowd seem uncertain and hesitant, rather than the purposeful prowling that Ilwaren knew it to be. Ilwaren found himself hoping that Aistalar did not find the sailor pleasing, and that he be left behind, in need of comfort. Ilwaren sneered at himself for a moment, but after all, he thought, where was the harm in a little comfort... In any case, no one had ever complained ! As far as he was aware, he had no enemies, he was thoroughly neutral on the Fëanor question, and intended to remain that way. Besides, harmony being the essence of music, all their ill will seemed somewhat marred to Ilwaren.  
   The sailor looked up, and the faraway eyes looked directly into his own. Ilwaren froze with delight, but knew that he himself was a mere sideshow, that the sailor would never have come to the tailors at all were it not for Glorfindel.  
  
   The musicians paused when Glorfindel entered, then started up a sparkling tune composed in his honour. He smiled his dazzling smile around the room, and there was a murmur, almost of appreciation, as the crowd moved like a clenching fist.  
   They're soldiers, thought Ilwarin, or a pack of wolves.

   Behind Glorfindel, dressed for Cuiviénen, was Aistalar, blushing and moving to hide behind his lover. But Glorfindel lifted his arm into the air, led him forward and twirled him round.  
   There was a sigh.  
   Ilwaren hurried down the stairs, but as the crowd parted to let him through, he found himself for once silenced, and merely gaped at the exquisite Aistalar. His thought moved so swiftly that he almost slew Glorfindel, not for standing between them, but for showing him, showing them, an ideal that they would never possess, for breaking all their hearts. But he could not turn away, he grudged the presence of all others, he grudged the existence of all things save this ideal rendition of the elf, the naked elf, the Child of Ilúvatar, His purpose and point in Music.  
   His mind unwound like hair in water, he scarcely heard Glorfindel ask if there were any questions. But the sailor spoke, and Ilwaren, listening to the strong, carrying voice, almost sprang to attention.  
   'Do you not get grit in awkward places ?'  
   There was faint sniggering. Glorfindel turned to Aistalar, who smiled devotedly at him, then smiled at at the sailor, who swayed back slightly 'No, I do not think that I have sat on anything gritty, though if I ever do, I will let you know.'  
Ilwaren blinked, and wondered when he himself had last sat on anything worse than a thin cushion.

   The room was silent, the musicians had forgotten to play. Ilwaren recalled that he was the host and gestured to the harpist, who shivered slightly and ran her fingers softly over the strings. People sipped their drinks, but all was otherwise still. One by one they turned to Ilwaren, who looked about him, then pulled himself together. 'Very well, if there are no more questions ? Here are delicacies to savour, fine wine, music, and each other, I hope you may pass a pleasant time with me. Glorfindel and Aistalar will be on the gallery, where I shall introduce you, a few at a time. Stars shine upon you all !'

   Of course, he had to go straight for the sailor, and asked him his name. He was barely aware of the crowd moving around him, as Glorfindel led Aistalar up the stairs, but the sailor turned his eyes to them and Ilwaren reluctantly watched the lovely Aistalar, his shining hair hanging smoothly down his back, gracefully rise above them.  
   'A rare beauty' said the sailor 'They did not exaggerate. I am called Elenthor in the language of your people. I have my own name, but that is for friends.'  
   'I am called Ilwaren, and I welcome you to my House. What brings you so far from Alqualondë ?'  
   'In truth, I was sent. Oh, not to spy ! Ha. No, Olwë thinks we should know each other better, and so some of us were sent here to befriend you all, and enrich both our cultures.' He sighed and looked down at his wine for a moment 'But in truth' he looked directly at Ilwaren 'In truth I am overwhelmed. Your vast city, your busy people, your many devices, most of which are beyond my wit to grasp even the purpose of, much less the function.  
   Oh ! By the stars of Varda, I am bewildered ! And people were speaking of this... this project, as something dull, out in the country, with nothing going on, and I thought "Yes !" In this way I can enrich both our cultures and yet keep my wits intact.'  
   Ilwaren laughed 'Oh Elenthor, what am I to do ? I hope he likes you, and fulfils your wish, but also I hope he does not, that I may know you better. Though you would not like me, I fear, for my life is extremely busy, and my acquaintance is vast.'  
   Elenthor looked around at the tailors 'Oh, well, but you merely sew garments together, do you not ? That is not bewildering. And I heed the gossip as I heed the crying of the gulls, to be ignored save as warnings of urgent danger, when their cries become piercing. No, it is these smiths, these crafters, and their devices... I swear that I can smell the stench of their smithies all through this city, in every morsel, every sip and every breath. I must away to the open air, even if it be far from the song of Ulmo.'  
   'And do you, did you, do much sailing ?'  
   Elenthor was silent, then drew in his breath to speak, but released it slowly and finally said merely 'Yes' and emptied his goblet. Ilwaren led him to the table and filled his glass.  
   'Do you miss the sea terribly ?'  
   Elenthor smiled through half-closed eyes 'More than my kin, more than my home, here my heart stays though ever we roam.'  
   'Is that from a song ? Can you sing it for us ?'  
   'No, I do not sing well. But I play the flute, the tune works well on the flute.'  
   Ilwaren sipped his own wine, then looked at it suspiciously 'When you spoke of the stench of the smithies, you were not in earnest ?'  
   Elenthor looked at him with wide eyes 'When did you last leave Tirion ? Go to Alqualondë yourself, and there you shall taste clean air and fresh food. Indeed, go to Alqualondë and befriend the people, and enrich both our cultures !'

 

   Ilwarin was irritated to see Isca and Tolyo moving through the crowd towards him. They were delightful, of course, in small doses, like miruvor, rather than wine... But their eyes, and their tongues, were sharp, and he smiled to himself; if they wished to leave Tirion for a time, then many feathers would be smoothed. Elenthor looked from Ilwarin to the approaching Noldor 'These are your friends ?' he asked.  
   'Well, I suppose so. We work together, you know. But they are friends with each other, and the world is offered merely grudging acquaintance, if you understand me ?' But it was too late to hear his reply, already they were upon him, demanding enthusiastic greetings, and warm introductions.  
   Elenthor kept his face set, but the charm of the two handsome elves soon had him smiling. Isca, the smaller of the two, caught his eye in particular, his eyes were grey, his skin almost white, but his fine lips were dark, almost red against the clear skin. But for that happy chance, they looked much alike, handsome Noldor, tall, dark haired and keen eyed.

   But Tolyo spoke in a mock serious tone to Ilwarin.  
   'My dear, you must get us this introduction ! We need to leave Tirion for a while, that thing with Finwë has made us... Well, the invitations have quite dried up !'  
   Ilwarin laughed and turned to Elenthor 'They painted the statue of Finwë pink, and studded it with gems. In... in... in places that would not be seen in polite society...'  
   Elenthor thought for a moment, then burst out laughing, and Tolyo and Isca laughed with him, and Ilwarin smiled broadly. The sailor would be a loss, of course, but the room was crowded with beauties, all of whom would turn to him for comfort, and to explain that if only they had worn their hair so, or worn that tunic or those earrings, then of course they would have been chosen.  
   But already Tolyo was jesting with the sailor, who laughed merrily, as one with a few measures of miruvor beneath his belt. Isca spoke quietly to Ilwarin 'We really must go, for a time. We had not considered the consequences of our deeds, we were drunk, we were merely jesting'  
   But Ilwarin held up his hand 'My dear, it was not I whom you offended ! Nor do I think that the dignity of the Noldor is impugned ! I am a tailor, I know better than most that beneath our finery we are all, even Ingwë himself, naked as...' he fell silent and looked up at the balcony 'Well, you must come and meet him ! But, my dear, please, he is a simple, unspoilt boy, even Glorfindel is scarcely finding his way about in Tirion. Be gentle, imagine yourselves already beneath the green shade of Beech Ridge, and you will soon be there !'

 

   Ilwarin was surprised how well Elenthor got along with Glorfindel, when finally he turned, or tore, his attention away from the seduction of Aistalar by Isca and Tolyo. They were sitting on either side of the naked elf, they had each taken a hand and were gently stroking them, whispering compliments into the ears of the blushing young elf. Ilwarin smiled, few could resist their charm individually, and when they were together...  
   But Glorfindel and the sailor had found that they were both people who spent their lives out in the open, and they spoke at length of the changing moods of Manwë and the fall of the freshening rain. Ilwarin sighed, and knew that the sailor was lost to him, then remembered that he was the host and hurried away to begin the introductions.

   But Isca and Tolyo had not moved from their posts on either side of Aistalar, and the elves of Tirion, aware of the sharp tongues of the twain, were abashed, and scarcely interrupted the seduction scene. They were stroking his face, and brushing the hair back from his shoulders as Ilwarin led up one he had considered a certainty, but Aistalar was flushed and breathless, visibly aroused, and had smiled unseeingly at the lovely hopeful, who had turned puzzled eyes to Ilwarin. With a consoling smile, Ilwarin led him away, watching over his shoulders as Isca and Tolyo began to caress the throat and chest of Aistalar, whose lips had parted. Ilwarin swallowed, and put his arm around the rejected elf, and shook his head at the frailty of the Eldar: one naked elf in the room and everything was changed.

   With a lazy arm around his latest conquest, Ilwarin watched the last hopefuls approach Glorfindel, who gestured them all to Aistalar, who scarcely heeded them. Ilwarin wondered who could please the one that Glorfindel had chosen, apart from Isca and Tolyo ! Their hands were on the stomach of the naked elf, his chin was lifted, his chest heaving with the swift breaths that Ilwarin felt he could almost hear above the noise, when suddenly there was a great silence.

   Ilwarin leaned forwards to see the door, and there was Herenya, in the first formal robe that he himself had ever completed, before Tirion was built, indeed, while Tirion was built. The neck was high, set with myriad gems, as the hem, and embroidered in silver was the island, traversing Belegaer, in that great voyage that bound those who had taken it in ways that the Aman-born could never know. The elf beside him spoke in a breathless whisper. 'Who is that ?'  
  
   

   Ilwaren thought back with the helpless pain of sympathy felt for the private grief of loved ones. He had been kneeling at the feet of Herenya, balancing the jewels to keep the hem straight. 'What will you wear beneath this cloak ?' he had asked, and Herenya had laughed.  
   'Why, nothing at all ! Oh Ilwarin, it is so heavy and so hot ! You must remember that we are beneath the Trees now, and you must learn to fashion garments fit for this endless heat !'  
   But Ingwë had entered, and kissed Herenya 'My darling, it is decided. I shall wed her. They will not have me as king unless I do. Not because they find fault with you, with us ! No, it is merely because there are so many more of them than us... So many who consider a family to be a matter of children... But you know all this !'  
   Ilwarin wished himself invisible, and stiched silently, his head down. Both of these princes were accustomed to being waited on, and might not notice him should he but keep his head bowed and remain silent.  
   Finally Herenya had spoken, his voice cold, until it cracked with a painful rasp, that wrung the heart of Ilwarin. 'You would cast me aside for a jewelled hat ?'  
   'Oh Herenya ! I... What can I do ? It is not the title, it is... it is my life's work, my duty...'  
   'Duty ? What of your duty to me ? What of the oaths we swore ? What of our love ?'  
   Ingwë swallowed 'I love you yet ! I will always love you' his voice softened 'I shall be there, when you come...'

   There was a long strained silence. Ilwarin wished he could be anywhere else, but equally, that he could look up and see their faces.  
   Finally Herenya had spoken coldly, unexpectedly, to Ilwarin 'Ilwarin, please see out the lord Ingwë. And if he should call again, I shall not be at home.'

 

   But the elf was looking at Ilwarin expectantly. He sighed 'He was the beloved, and right hand, of Ingwë, until Ingwë wed and became High King. They have not seen each other in all that time.'  
   'What ? Where has Herenya been ? Does he keep to his house ? I have never seen him, and I am not young.'  
   'He has been working on the archives in Mindon Eldaliéva, studying and... and...' he flapped a hand in the air 'whatever the wise do, I suppose !'  
   He rose to his feet, the elf beside him, and they watched the crowd fall back in respectful silence as Herenya floated up the stairs. He was fair, rather than golden-haired, but a Vanyar for all that, eyes of Telperion blue, and high wide cheekbones, coldly beautiful, like a statue.  
   

   The silence rose around him until even Isca and Tolyo were still, and Aistalar gazed at the approaching Vanyar as though at the waxing of Laurelin. With the poise of a waiting cat, the cloak swirling slightly about his ankles like a cat's tail, Herenya stood before Aistalar, and bowed, hand on heart. Aistalar made to rise, but Isca and Tolyo did not release him.  
   The Vanyar looked long into the darkened eyes of Aistalar, then spoke softly to him.  
   'Bring your feet up to the edge of the seat.'  
Aistalar, with the merest flicker of puzzlement, obeyed, hunched up on the seat like a spider. Herenya nodded slightly 'Now, lift yourself up, the boys will steady your arms.'  
   This time Aistalar looked at him with wide eyes, and then drew in his breath. His eyebrows moved, upwards and together, then his face settled like water under the steady gaze of the serene Vanyar. Without a sound, Aistalar unfolded his limbs and arched his back, his knees fell apart, and Isca and Tolyo gripped his arms as though he were a tumbler at the games. Ilwarin stepped forwards without thought, leaving the elf forgotten behind him, until he could see over the shoulder of Herenya at the opening of the naked elf.  
   He knew it was a moment he would always remember; that everyone present, and many others beside, would boast afterwards that they had been there. Aistalar was as tempting as a ripe peach, and Herenya had come to pluck him. The Vanyar, without turning his head, said 'Ilwarin, my cloak.'  
   Ilwarin started, then reached over the broad shoulders, unpinned the cloak and lifted it carefully away. Herenya was naked beneath, but Aistalar, bent back as a bow, could see nothing of this. Ilwarin admired the long pale limbs, and clenched his fist to stop himself from reaching out to touch. But Herenya stepped forwards and slid inside Aistalar, and took him by the hips. He did not move, merely stood, possessing the naked elf, until with a croak, with a sob, Aistalar said 'Master, please...'  
   Herenya slid out again and beckoned slightly. Ilwarin slipped the cloak back onto his shoulders and the fair head turned slightly 'You have rooms here ?'  
   Ilwarin gestured to the door 'This way, my lord, it is an honour to offer you my hospitality at any time.'  
   But Herenya, who had not glanced at Glorfindel, swept by him and scooped up Aistalar, and carried him bodily away.

 

   Glorfindel looked in astonishment at Elenthor 'Aistalar is older than I, he has lived all his life in fair Tirion, yet none of these people paid him the slightest heed until I undressed him !'  
   'No, people undress each other every day. You took him out in public that way.'  
   'Yes, well. I am not sorry !'  
   'No, nor should you be. I think it is good that we question... well, everything ! These Noldor ask alot of questions, but their questions all concern their deeds, as "what if I add this powder to that liquid ?". We Falmari, we question what is, how the wind blows, and the movement of the water. And you, what are you ?'  
   Glorfindel told him of his family. The sailor frowned 'Yes, you are a little like that pompous peacock who just carried off your naked elf. Like hawks in the dovecote... But are you not going to defend your beloved ?'  
   'How shall I guard him from the guards ? Besides, he wanted to be carried away, you heard him beg.'  
   'Very well, then if you will have me, I will be one of your guards, and I will defend him from the other guards.'  
   'Will you ? Will you not be as tempted as we ?'  
   'Of course ! But in truth I have never had much thirst for such adventures, to me, the attraction is rather to live quietly in the country, though' he grinned wickedly 'Not entirely quietly !'  
   'Do you truly think me as haughty as that Vanyar ?'  
   'No ! I said "a little" and I meant it. But I have heard his tale, for they sing it yet in Alqualondë, and it is a sad one, the High King, they say, was his lover, and cast him aside for the throne. He has mourned in private ever since.'  
   Glorfindel gaped at him, and remembered the flushed face of Ingwë beneath the trees, speaking of desire. He was suddenly moved with pity for the ancient Herenya, who had helped steer the great march across the old country, and been dropped in thanks like an old shoe. He wished to rush to the side of Herenya and comfort him, then realised that Aistalar was undoubtedly offering far greater comfort than he himself would give. He sighed and smiled at Elenthor.  
   'We are not lovers as Ingwë and Herenya were, though I do love Aistalar. It is... it is almost... Well, may I be candid with you ?'  
   'If I am to guard you, you must trust me. More than that, I cannot say. But I would help you, for I feel warmly for you, you are kind and good, and I would have your friendship more than... more than a throne ! Let naught come between us !'  
   'Oh Elenthor ! You are so sensible ! I am glad you wish to join us, I think we shall need you !'  
   'Thankyou, my friend. But what troubles you ?'  
'It is not trouble, it is... Of course I question why I have brought forth a naked elf, whether it is an artistic statement, or a question posed to our customs and ways, or merely an exhibition of tasteless attention-seeking. Or mere whim... I cannot say. I am not a great thinker, nor an artist, nor crafter, I have no burning words to utter ! It is...  
   I think there is a state, a state of desire, of awakened passion, and I would take him there, where the air is different, where the quality of experience is different, and let him live in ecstasy, that I may share in it.'  
   Elenthor looked keenly at him 'Perhaps it is what you wish, for yourself ?'  
'To live in ecstasy ? How not ? But I could not be here naked ! Nor surrender myself as he has done, at the command of a stranger.'  
   'But what a stranger !'  
   Glorfindel snorted a laugh 'I am in awe, truly. It took me days to get Aistalar aroused, and this haughty Vanyar strolls in...'  
   Elenthor laughed 'Oh Glorfindel, but if you had not peeled the fruit, it would never have reached the plate. Concerning plates, you are the scion of Little Gold Tree, the farm ?'  
Glorfindel bowed, and Elenthor nodded 'Yes, you say you are not a crafter, but your produce is a name for excellence even in Alqualondë, where my father eats your mushroom pate daily. You were brought up to tend growing things, and you have tended Aistalar like the healthy young creature that he is, and now he has found the life that you, and he, sought to create, a life of bliss.  
   But my friend, what of the sated appetite ? What of the overfull gut ? Why should the appetites of the flesh be so different ? Do you think that they are ?'  
   'Think ! I cannot think ! When I am old and wise, I shall think about all this, and doubtless disdain my youthful extravagance. But now ! Now it is time to live ! Aistalar will turn to me, to tell me of the haughty Vanyar, and we shall laugh and kiss.'

  
   But Herenya was at the door, with Aistalar soft and drowsy in his arms. He handed the naked elf to Isca and Tolyo, who held him on their lap, then turned to Glorfindel, who found himself rising to his feet.  
   'Glorfindel, I am Herenya. Will you talk with me, aside ?'  
   Glorfindel bowed silently and followed the Vanyar into the next room. It was a large bedroom, with wine coloured sheets, crumpled from use but shimmering in the light of silver lanterns. Herenya stopped and stood facing Glorfindel, who tried not to picture the dark hair of Aistalar spilled over that pillow, and the fair Herenya stooping over him...  
   

   The cold eyes met his, and then softened into a smile 'You are as charming as I had heard. I hope that, whatever passes between us here, we may be friends ?'  
   'My lord, it would be an honour. What is your wish ?'  
   'He called me master. But he also calls you master. There can be only one.'  
   Glorfindel was silent. The Vanyar was ancient, high-ranking, celebrated and wise. He could think of no measure that he could surpass him in, save brute strength. But this was no ordinary struggle for dominance, Herenya had chosen to come, to be a guard, of an ordinary Noldor. He had come, in fact, at the summons of Glorfindel.

   'Why are you here ?' he asked finally.  
   'In truth ?' Herenya sighed and looked away. Glorfindel felt his breath come easier, and he loosened the sinews of his shoulders. 'I suppose I had become bored. No, much deeper than boredom ! There is a creature that lives in the waters of Ulmo, it is tiny and frail, a helpless wisp of life ! Yavanna is harsh on the small things ! But this determined little creature covers itself in armour made of tiny stones, and flakes of wood or shell, until it is overlaid with a hard coat, that hides it from its foes !' he looked thoughtful for a moment, and sighed 'Olórin sought me out, and left me a scroll, which I had thought a letter, but which told only of this creature, building itself a shell. And then I knew that the creature was I, that I myself had built a shell of books and scrolls, though I am no frail wisp ! Oh he stirred my pride !  
   Ha ! Olórin ! Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards ! And I knew that I must cast aside my cloak, like the naked elf, and live as myself, among others. But...' he frowned briefly 'We must decide, now, which of us is the master. I am... I am old, and accustomed to my own will. But you... I like you, young Glorfindel, I do not think you would lead us from the path of the Music. As I hope that I would not.'  
   'But what do you wish ? How shall we ascertain the mastery ?'  
   'Do you await my submission ? You will not get it. Come, you are no infant, do not tell me you have never fought before ! Be forsworn if you do, for I have heard the tale of your brawling with Celegorm, and your victories !'  
   Glorfindel looked incredulously at Herenya 'You would fight me ?'  
   'For the naked elf ? Oh yes.'

   Glorfindel looked at him through narrowed eyes. His own wrestling tutor had come from the old country, and had taught him many tricks, but had never let him win, saying "always keep a trick up your sleeve, and trust no one with them all." Herenya was slim, but solid, his years of study had not caused him to waste away...  
   'Very well. Here ? Now ?'  
   'Indeed, before we pass through that door. And, let us wager on the outcome.'  
   'Wager ? I am not wealthy, I have naught to stake.'  
   Herenya smiled 'Let us wager our bodies. You have not heard the tale of the wager of Tasarëon ? I see you have not. It is no matter. But the stake is simple, the master takes the loser.'  
   Glorfindel flushed, and thought of the length of Herenya, and then of the long, smooth limbs, and raised his chin 'It will be my pleasure to take you, but we need not wrestle first.'  
   Herenya laughed once 'That is the spirit ! Come then !' he unfastened his cloak and stood naked before Glorfindel, who could not keep from gaping. But Herenya looked sternly at him 'Come, strip, do not ruin your fine clothes, much toil went into their making.'  
   Glorfindel sighed and laid his clothes on a chair, and was pleased to see the eyes of Herenya darken, and his lips part as he looked at the golden flesh.

 

   Glorfindel crouched, and Herenya echoed his posture, and Glorfindel wondered if they had had the same tutor. But he was astonished nonetheless when Herenya lunged forwards and swept him off his feet. He curled up and rolled, and sprang to his feet, and Herenya was there, laughing, flicking back the hair from his face, and the cold anger rose in Glorfindel, greater than desire, to vanquish the haughty Vanyar, and take him on the floor. He did not think of Ingwë, nor attribute any of his frustration and anger to the real source; he merely studied his foe, looking for weaknesses, and seeing none. They circled warily, Glorfindel feinted, but Herenya barely glanced aside, watching his eyes keenly under lowered brows.

   Glorfindel remembered his father by the stream, speaking of ambushing orcs in the Starlight. "Surprise is everything." he had said. Glorfindel emptied his mind and watched the feet of Herenya, the left placed carefully, as though in memory of pain, and knew that this was his weakness. But how to use it ? A phrase of music came to his mind, his mother singing, the Song of the Snake, how it moves, how it strikes.  
   He darted to his right, and threw himself backwards, his legs kicked round, and knocked Herenya to the floor. Glorfindel let the motion of his lunge carry him into a springing roll, turned, then leapt onto the winded elf, and gripped his arm, wrenching it slowly up behind his back, and pinning him down with his knees. Herenya heaved and writhed, but Glorfindel held him down, and said triumphantly 'Ha ! I have you ! Submit !'  
   Herenya nodded 'Yes, you are the master, the field is yours.'

   Glorfindel, still aflame from the struggle, breathed out deeply, a sharp sigh. Then, finding the lovely naked elf still in his arms, hot from the fight, he felt his passion rise from violence to desire, and loosened his hold. Herenya lay still, his cheek on the marble floor, his fair hair silver in the light of the silver lanterns. He was all of Telperion, there was nothing of Laurelin to him. Glorfindel looked down at his own, golden hair, and his limbs, golden from his toil on the farm, then spoke his thought 'We are like the Two Trees, silver and gold, yet neither is the master. You chose the only field in which I could vanquish you, you wished to lose !'  
   'No, I could not catch you in a race, nor charm a horse like Asfaloth, nor an elf like Aistalar. I come to you the supplicant. But you, you must forgive me, you feel awe of my name, my age, and my... friends. It was... You had to vanquish me. To know that you could, or there would have been strife between us.'

   'You don’t have to let me take you.' said Glorfindel gruffly, feeling foolish, manipulated and naive.  
   Herenya smiled, and looked at Glorfindel over his shoulder, under lowered eyelids 'Let you ? If you do, this will have been my most successful seduction since Ingwë himself ! The naked elf and his Glorfindel, one after the other ? I shall be the envy of all Tirion.' he grinned 'Of all that lives !'  
   Glorfindel did not know whether to strangle or kiss the elf below him. He ran a hand down the smooth side, feeling the ribs and sinews move as Herenya drew in his breath. With the suddenness of lightning, his mood changed, his thoughts burned away like grass in the fire, and he thrust into the pinned Vanyar, groaning with unexpected relief, and hearing his groan echoed by Herenya. Glorfindel moved swiftly, his hands gripping the shoulders of Herenya who sprawled limply, his eyes closed, and breathed with short, hissing breaths. The fight had roused Glorfindel as never before, he took the Vanyar in a frenzy, delirious with power and the thought of Aistalar awaiting him in the next room. He shouted as he found release, and did not see the slow smile curve the lips of the ancient elf, who had known Ingwë before the Call of the Hunter troubled the songs of the Eldar.

 

 


End file.
